


Hurt

by LeoArcana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Episode Related, Episode: s09e03 I'm No Angel, Eventual Happy Ending, Guilt, Human Castiel, Hurt, Sick Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 68,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoArcana/pseuds/LeoArcana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezekiel said Cas had to go.  He didn't say where or that Dean had to be happy about it and Dean certainly wasn't happy, if the amount of alcohol he was drinking was anything to go by.  At first it had been just because Cas was gone, but now it seemed to be the only thing to alleviate the physical pain.  He's not sure what's wrong, but, Dean being Dean, he tries to keep it to himself.  Until it lands him in the ER, where the situation goes from bad to worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Can't Stay Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theindigolily (tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=theindigolily+%28tumblr%29), [LillianaNil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillianaNil/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for [theindigolily](theingidolily.tumblr.com), she asked that i deal out some heavy pain to the characters with a little Destiel. which i am more than pleased to do.

“Castiel cannot stay here.  He will brings the angels down on all of us,” Ezekiel said.

It took Dean a second to process that it was now Ezekiel standing next to him; he really would get whiplash if the switches were going to be that smooth.  Then Ezekiel’s words sunk in.

“No, no…he’s got the Enochian tattoo.  He’s warded,” Dean replied.

“He was warded when April found him.  And she killed him.”

“Yes and you brought him back.  And I thank you for that, but this is Cas, okay?  Who vouched for you when I didn’t know you from jack,” Dean leaned in closer, “The bunker is safe.”

“Bartholomew is amassing a force.  We cannot stand an incursion.  Castiel is in danger and if he here, then _I_ am in danger.”

“Wha— You’re in danger?  From who, the angels?”

Who would Ezekiel be in danger from?  He hadn’t done anything to anyone.  At best, he’d only be in trouble for helping him and Sam.  But even then, the angels had bigger concerns on their hands; namely, finding Castiel.  Which was all the more reason to keep him safe in the bunker, he’d already died once as a human.  If they hadn’t found him, he’d still be dead.

“…If he stays, I am afraid I have no choice but to leave.”

“Well, no, you can’t do that,” Dean said, as if that were all it took, “Sam’s not well enough, if you leave his body—”

“I know.”

Dean stared at him incredulously.  This ‘angel’ Cas had vouched for, that Cas said was a good guy and could be trusted, was making him choose between Cas’ life and Sam’s.

“I am sorry.”

Dean let out a slow breath, feeling that same suffocatingly sick feeling he’d had when Death told him to choose between Adam and Sam’s soul.  He swallowed thickly, already knowing what he would choose.  Dean nodded once and turned towards Castiel, trying to tell himself he was doing the right thing as he moved closer.  Sensing his presence, Cas looked up from the burrito.

“It’s epic food, I— I can’t get enough,” Cas grinned, taking another bite.

“Cas, uh…can we talk?” Dean forced out.

“Of course.  Dean, you know I always appreciate our talks…and our time together.”

Hell.  This was going to be Hell.  Dean cleared his throat, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

“…Listen, buddy.  You, uh…” Dean took a deep breath, “You can’t stay here.”

Castiel stopped chewing his food and stared at Dean in disbelief.  Dean glanced down, fidgeting with his hands between his knees.  When he chanced a look back up, Cas was stilling staring at him, trying to figure what Dean had said.

“What are…Are you lying again?” Castiel asked with a half laugh.

“No, I’m uh…I’m serious.”

“I’m confused.  Why can’t I stay here?  Did you not tell me to ‘haul ass’ to the bunker?  And come and get me when I took too long?”

“No, yeah, I mean,” Dean swallowed, “I did tell you that.  But this whole thing with the angels coming after you…It’s— It’s too dangerous for you to stay here.  Right now, at least.”

“This seems like the safest place for me to stay.  I don’t believe there are many other places designed to hold off the supernatural.”

Dean licked his lips nervously; Cas had a point.  It was the same one Dean had weakly tried to point out to Zeke, but it was still a good one.  Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam; no, the way he held himself and watched Dean, making sure Dean would do as he’d advised.  That was still Zeke.  Dean sighed and turned back to Castiel.

“T-that’s the thing, Cas.  It’s only meant to hold off the spooks, not keep them out forever.  If one of them manages to get in here, then we’re screwed.”

“You and Sam are the greatest hunters I’ve ever seen, I’m sure you would be able to handle it,” Cas spoke softly.

Dean could see the tears starting to build in Cas’ eyes, becoming electric blue with the settling pain.  Of course, Cas wouldn’t be able to hold his emotions back.  He’d just become human; figuring out how not to die was his priority.  One he’d already failed at, granted.  But controlling emotions wasn’t exactly high his list yet.  Dean ran a hand over his face, trying to keep himself composed as he felt the burning in his own eyes.  He dropped his voice a little lower, to keep it from cracking and ruining his façade.

“Sam…Sam’s not well enough to fight like we used to.”

“He seems just fine, last I heard he was dying and now he…he looks much healthier.”

There was that half smile on Cas’ face again, though this time tainted with a hint of desperation.

“Yeah, well…he’s not.  He’s still really messed up inside,” Dean said, “And if something gets in here, especially an angel, Zeke’s screwed.”

Dean tensed, catching his own slip up.  He hoped Castiel hadn’t heard it, that maybe Cas thought he just slurred saying “he’s” or something.  But Castiel wasn’t an idiot.  Castiel narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

“Zeke?” Cas repeated.

“…Ezekiel.”

“Ezekiel is here?  Where?  I haven’t—”

Cas stopped, seeing the guilty expression on Dean’s face.  Dean turned his gaze to the floor, unable to look him in the eyes.

“Is he…possessing Sam?” Cas asked.

“Kind of,” Dean admitted, “He’s in Sam, trying to fix him up while he heals himself…”

“And?” Cas pressed.

“And…Sam doesn’t know.”

“Dean—”

“Please, Cas, just…don’t tell him.  I’m trying to figure it,” Dean blurted, “But Zeke’ll leave Sam for dead if you don’t go.”

Castiel set the burrito down the table, realizing he’d accidently crushed it in his grip.  He blinked a few times trying to hold off the tears, but looked away from Dean when a stray one managed to fall anyway.

“I understand,” Cas murmured, “You are just trying to protect your family.”

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean groaned, “You know you’re family too, it’s just…I mean, it’s not like I’m kicking you out on the streets again.”

Cas quirked a hopeless eyebrow at Dean.  He hated that.  He hated that hopeless, defeated, dying puppy look on Cas’ face.

“I’ll get you a place to stay, set ya up in a nice hotel, give you plenty of money for food and everything,” Dean offered.

“I…I would appreciate that,” Cas mumbled.

“And I’ll check in on you, just to make sure you aren’t doing something stupid like eating toothpaste,” Dean joked.

There was a trace of offense on Cas’ face.

“You— you didn’t eat toothpaste…did you, Cas?”

He gave no response.

“Man, you can’t eat that crap!  It’s poisonous if you eat it!”

“I was unaware of that.”

Dean sat back, running his hand over his face again.

“At least read the labels on things before you use them,” Dean sighed.

A tense minute followed before Dean decided to stand up and leave.  He could feel himself breaking down and he had no intention of letting anyone, even Cas, see it.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Could I…would it be alright if stayed, just a few more hours?”

“’Course.”

“Thank you.”

Dean nodded, not trusting his voice.  He took a deep breath and walked away from the disheartened former angel.  As he moved past Zeke, he shot him the dirtiest look he could muster up at that moment.

“Hope you’re happy,” Dean growled.

“I am sorry,” Zeke said again.

“No, you’re not,” Dean snapped.

He could almost hear Zeke retreat back into Sam’s mind, leaving his brother standing there confused.  Sam called after him, asking where he was going all of a sudden, but Dean didn’t bother with an answer.  He just kept going.  No doubt Sam would ask Cas what happened, but Dean trusted Cas not to tell him the truth.  He hoped he could still trust him, after he’d just told Cas he couldn’t stay.  Dean honestly wouldn’t be all that surprised if Cas told Sam anyway.  There was even a tiny part of him that hoped Cas would tell Sam, that Sam would get angry and shout at him.  Maybe even hit him.  Because he felt like that’s what he both deserved and needed right now.

Instead, he settled for snatching up the bottle of scotch and the glass off the table where he’d left it before they went to Cas.  He poured the amber liquid into the glass, probably more than he should have, as he continued on to his room.

Dean wasn’t stupid, he knew he couldn’t drink too much if he was going to be taking Castiel to a hotel later.  Partly because drunk driving and risking his life, Cas’ new very mortal life, and of course, Baby’s life was just flat out stupid.  But also because he was sure if he had too much, he’d definitely break down in front of Cas and that wasn’t allowed; John had made that clear to him decades ago. 

It still caught him off guard when there was a soft knock at his door.  Dean muttered something along the lines ‘come in’ as he set the bottle and glass on the nightstand beside his bed.  The door creaked open, revealing Cas looking much smaller and saddened than before.  In that moment, Dean had half a mind to tell Zeke to suck it up and deal with Cas staying. 

“Dean, I…I believe I should be going now,” Cas stated weakly.

“Yeah…yeah, right,” Dean mumbled.

He pushed himself up off the bed, picking up a duffle bag he’d put by the door.  He knew Cas didn’t have any other clothes to wear and the bourbon had suggested Dean pack up some of his own clothes to loan to Cas.  They mostly ones that were either torn in some places and he hadn’t bothered to patch, or just ones he never felt like wearing.  But at least they were clean and meant Cas didn’t have to be naked while waiting for his current outfit to be washed.

Cas stepped aside as Dean walked out of the room and followed him down the hall.  Neither of them said anything on the way to the front door, if you could really call it that.  Even at Kevin’s questioning, they said nothing.  Dean kept his eyes fixed on the door while Cas kept his eyes on the ground. 

Outside, Dean pulled open the back door of the Impala and threw the duffle bag in.  He slammed the door shut and glanced up to see Cas opening the other back door.  He scowled at the former angel.

“Shotgun,” Dean grumbled.

Castiel paused, looking at him curiously before figuring out what Dean had meant.  He could count on one hand how many times he’d gotten to sit in the front seat.  Sam had always taken it, making Cas sit in the back nearly every single time.  Sam had made it apparent that it was _his_ seat back when they’d gone on the cartoony hunt in Oklahoma City.  Cas couldn’t hide the small smile that crossed his lips as he shut the back door and moved to the front passenger door as Dean started up the engine.   Cas wanted to ask Dean where he was going to be staying, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out his mouth.  Still, Dean could tell he wanted to know.

“Hotel’s only about twenty minutes away,” Dean sighed.

Cas looked at him curiously.

“Zeke said you had to go, but he didn’t say how far.”

Again, Cas allowed himself a small smile, turning his gaze towards his lap.  A few minutes silent minutes went by before Castiel decided to say something.           

“I told Sam it was my decision to leave,” Cas said.

Dean seemed to relax his grip on the steering wheel a little bit, giving a single nod in thanks.  Nothing more was said until they came into the hotel parking lot.  All Cas could was stare at the building, standing at least fifteen stories high, lined with neatly trimmed shrubbery used to hide the lights illuminating the hotel from the ground.  That was the moment he understood the difference between a motel and a hotel.  Hotels were much more grand and important looking; at least, this one was.  Then another thought occurred to Cas; its cost.

“Dean, you didn’t have to choose a nice hotel.  After my experience, I would have been content with a motel like the ones you and Sam often stay in,” Castiel said, following suit as Dean got out of the car, “And I’m not sure the holder of whatever card you used would appreciate this.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve saved the world on more than one occasion,” Dean stated, “They can do this much for us.”

Not having an argument to that, Cas followed Dean closely to the hotel front desk.  The clerk at the desk looked like he wanted to crack some joke about the two men picking up the room, but the look on Dean’s face silenced him.  Dean then led Cas to the elevator, pressing the button for the twelfth floor.  Cas didn’t need Dean to help him to the room, he had only the one duffle bag, but he certainly wasn’t going to object to the hunter’s help.  He enjoyed the little extra time it gave him with Dean, since Dean had spent the last few hours at the bunker in his room.

The elevator doors pinged open, letting the both of them out.  Castiel sighed inwardly.  About six doors from the elevator was Castiel’s room.  Dean slide the key card and pushed the door open, holding it that way for Cas to walk in first.  He stepped into the room, admiring how much nicer it was than the small, outdated motel rooms Dean and Sam frequented.  The carpet was smooth and modern; not shag or worn-out.  The TV didn’t look decades old as it sat atop a smooth, light colored set of drawers.  The bed looked soft and inviting, unlike the stiff mattresses of the motels.  The bathroom was clean and well lit.  It was more like a pleasant apartment than a hotel room.

“Dean—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Dean interrupted.

He moved past Cas, tossed the duffle bag onto the bed and turned to him with his arms outstretched.  Castiel mistook his outstretched arms as an invitation for a hug.  Castiel fidgeted with hands a bit before stepping forward and quickly wrapping his arms around Dean.  He was caught off guard, but made no move to complain or end the hug.  Instead, he just returned it with a quick squeeze before Castiel stood back.

“This is where you’re staying,” Dean stated.

“And…you said you would check in on me…?”

“Gotta make sure you don’t die,” Dean shrugged, “Again.”

“That isn’t funny, Dean.  Dying as a human is much less pleasant than dying as an angel,” Castiel grumbled.

Dean had died plenty of times and not a single one of them was pleasant.  But maybe that was because he’d either gone to or been on his way to Hell, whereas Cas was basically booted back up to Heaven, only to be revived by God.

“Right, sorry,” Dean muttered.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder and made his way for the door.

“Dean,” Cas called.

He paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at Castiel.

“Thank you,” Cas said.

“I think we’ve had enough chick-flick moments for the night,” Dean replied.

Dean waved him off and Castiel nodded with a smirk, sinking down on the bed to see just how soft it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to pick up where s9e3 left off to get things set up, but rest assured it's all increasing pain and worry from here on out.


	2. Drown it in Alcohol

Sam sat at his laptop, trying to look up information on the two demons Crowley had given up after Kevin’s beating.  He hadn’t gotten much info on them yet, he was a little busy thinking about Cas leaving and Dean’s possible reactions.  He sighed and glanced at the bottle of bourbon on the table, the one he’d recovered from Dean’s room.  Dean would probably snap at him for it, but he wasn’t really worried about that.  He’d taken it partly because there no reason for him to be drinking alone in his room.  Sure, there was a reason for him to be drinking, just not alone.  With the mood Sam was sure Dean would be in, Dean would probably want nothing to do with anyone for the night.  Sam had also taken it because it happened to be the only bottle of bourbon in the bunker at the moment and he wanted a glass.

He sat back in his chair, picking up his glass and taking a drink only to sputter it back into the glass at the sudden noise of the front door being flung open.  He wiped the alcohol away from his lips, watching Dean kick the door shut behind himself and come storming down the stairs.

“Dean—“

“Nope,” Dean snapped.

“I didn’t even—“

“I don’t care,” Dean interrupted, “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

Dean glanced at the bourbon bottle on the table and scowled at Sam before snatching it up and taking it with him as he strode down the hall to his room.  Sam turned and watched Dean disappear down the hallway, sighing when he was out of sight, and throwing his hands up in exasperation when he heard Dean slam his door.  He closed his laptop, running his hand through his hair and trying to decide if he should even bother trying to talk to his brother.  As much as Dean hated talking, Sam really didn’t want him to turn back to alcohol to ease his problems.  He’d been doing so much better about that once they’d settled into the bunker and Sam didn’t want that progress ruined.

Sam pushed himself up and started down the hall towards Dean’s room.  He paused just outside the door, the silence within causing him to rethink his decision.  There was Dean’s ‘I don’t wanna talk about it’, which was usually a snide remark and just about anytime something even remotely sensitive came up.  Then there was normal people’s ‘I don’t wanna talk about it’; complete silence for someone who was actually hurt.  This was that silence.   

Sam bit his lip and changed his mind, turning and heading back to the main hall.  Maybe he’d try to talk to him in the morning once Dean had settled. 

The problem was, Dean really had no intention of settling.  For a couple hours, he just sat on his bed, stewing in his thoughts.  Ankles crossed, arms folded, glaring death at the wall across from him and taking the occasional drink of bourbon straight from the bottle.  He saw no reason to bother with a glass.  When he’d finally had enough of his guilt-ridden thoughts chewing at him, he got up and turned on his bed, taking one of the shotguns off the wall.  He then grabbed up a heavy box of shells from a drawer and left his room, flinging the door open as he did and not bothering to shut it.

“What’s with all the door slamming?” he distantly heard Kevin asked.

Though Kevin couldn’t even see him, Dean still shrugged his shoulders gruffly in response.  He made his way down to one the bunker’s lower levels, probably the bottom if it’s construct was anything to go by.  Either way, it was the level that held the gun range.  Dean tossed the ammo pack onto the counter, set the shotgun beside it, and roughly set the bourbon bottle next to them.  He fumbled with the pulley to bring the targets in, muttering curses as he did, but evenly managed to string up a couple new target sheets.  Dean moved the targets back out and picked up the shotgun, making short work of loading it.  He’d done that so many times, he could be drunk off his ass and still load it with minimal issues.  It was as easy as breathing for him.

Once loaded, he picked up the bourbon, took a long drink before putting it down, and then open fired on the targets.

               

Kevin flinched at the sudden sounds of gun fire.  Dean hadn’t bothered to shut the door to the gun range, letting the loud noise carry up to the level Kevin was on.  Kevin dropped the files he’d been looking through and went up to the main hall, finding Sam unbothered by the sound.

“What the hell is going on?” Kevin asked.

“I’d say it sounds like Dean’s in the gun range,” Sam replied.

“It’s never that loud though.”

“Normally, he shuts the door.  The Men of Letters built it to be pretty much sound proof, but that doesn’t work if the door’s open.”

Kevin rolled his eyes, turning on his heels with every intention to go shut the door and any other that could inhibit the noise.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Sam said.

“Why not?”

“Just…trust me,” Sam sighed.

Kevin groaned as several more shots went off. 

“How am I supposed to get any translating done?” Kevin asked.

“You could always find a pair of earmuffs,” Sam suggested, “Or just wait it out.  I’m sure he’ll be done soon.”

Evidently, Sam had been wrong.  They’d both thought Dean was done when there was about ten minutes of silence.  But he must’ve found ammo stored in the gun range because the heavy shots started up again, with only short pauses to reload.  Kevin glared at Sam in annoyance; it had now been two hours since Dean started.  Sam sighed, nodding in silent agreement.  He stood up and made his way down to the gun range.

He winced at the volume of the shots within the range, covering his ears and walking up to Dean.  Dean wore nothing to cover his ears from the noise, he just kept firing away at the targets.  Targets, which Sam noticed were thoroughly destroyed from the repeated blasts.  He also noticed the bourbon bottle, now laying on its side on the counter and completely empty.

“Dean!”

Dean stopped, glancing around like he wasn’t sure he’d heard anything.  When he raised the shotgun again, Sam grabbed his shoulder and spun him around; taking the gun in the same motion.

“Dean, give it a rest already,” Sam said.

“What?!” Dean yelled.

Of course, he wouldn’t be able to hear.   _Idiot._

“I said, ‘give it a rest’!” Sam shouted.

“Why?!”

“You’re— You’re gonna spend all the ammo!”

“No, I’m not!  There’s a shit-ton down here!”

Sam flexed his jaw and then decided to only mouth words at Dean, who stared back in confusion.  A couple minutes went by before Dean came to realize he’d deafened himself.  He made a sound of annoyance, waving Sam off as he shouldered the gun and (shakily) walked out.  Sam let out a breath of relief, thankful it didn’t take any more convincing.

Back in the main hall, he found Kevin looking at him like he expected an explanation.

“What?” Sam asked.

“I tried to talk to him, but he just ignored me and grabbed another drink,” Kevin said.

Sam threw a bitchface in the general direction of Dean’s room just as he heard the door slam shut.  He ran his hands through his hair, once again trying to decide what to do.  Talking was still not option at the moment, but now that was because his idiot older brother had probably done permanent damage to his ears.  Already fed up with Dean’s not so great behavior, Sam just went back to his laptop and decided he’d check on Dean in a couple hours.  If he wanted to hole himself up, fine.  If he wanted to drink, fine.  But Sam wasn’t going to let him drink himself to death.  Maybe just to unconsciousness.

A few hours later, when Sam got up to go to his own room and get some sleep, he stopped outside Dean’s door.  He gingerly opened it and poked his head instead to find Dean laying face down on his bed, not moving a single muscle.  With a sense of growing concern, Sam went in to check on him.  Just as he was about to press his fingers to Dean’s neck, to check for a pulse, he heard a low soft snore come from his brother.  Sam rolled his eyes, bending over to pick up the dropped bottle on the floor beside Dean’s bed.  He wasn’t sure how much had been in the bottle to start with, but he’d never seen it before so he could only assume it was full when Dean grabbed it.  Only a little had splashed onto the floor and now, holding it upright, it looked like there was about a third left.  Maybe a little closer to half.  Although the clear liquid was a pretty good giveaway, Sam still sniffed it to find that it was indeed vodka.

Sam shook his head, taking the bottle with him as he left and making a quick trip back to the kitchen to drop it off before heading back to his own room.  He changed into pajamas, settled down into bed, and tried to push his concern for Dean out of his mind.  Dean would be fine tomorrow, maybe a little hung over, but fine nonetheless.  He always was.

 

When morning came, Sam found Kevin had already made his own breakfast.  Sam scowled lightly at the fact that Kevin hadn’t bothered to make anything for him and Dean.  Or even clean up the dishes.  Catching Sam’s expression, he sat up and cleared his throat.

“Sorry, didn’t know when you’d be up,” Kevin apologized.

“It’s fine,” Sam yawned.

He didn’t really expect Kevin to do so, but still, it would’ve been nice.  Sam fixed his own breakfast, making a little extra for Dean, thinking he’d be up soon.  But once again, Sam was wrong. 

The morning passed quietly as Sam continued researching the two demons and Kevin worked on translating more of the tablet in hopes there was some way they could fix this whole clusterfuck; there really wasn’t any other way to describe the situation at hand.  With morning now gone, and the sun high in the sky, Kevin took a break from translating to make his lunch.  This time, he’d offered to make Sam’s as well.  With a yawn and a nod from Sam, Kevin went off to the kitchen while Sam decided to check up on Dean again.

He didn’t find Dean in his room, instead he found him on the floor of the bathroom, holding onto the toilet.  Sam smirked at him as he peaked up and groaned, dropping his head to rest on his arms.

“You know, Dean—”

“Shut up,” Dean growled quietly.

“Someone once told me that the best cure for a hangover was a greasy pork sandwich…served up on a dirty-ass tray.”

Dean lifted his head to glare wearily at his younger brother.  Sam left him to get cleaned up and come down for food, hearing his brother wince at noise of the toilet flushing.   He couldn’t hold back a laugh as he came back into the main hall.  A short while later, Dean trudged in and went straight to the kitchen, keeping his movements as quiet as possible.  Sam watched him in amusement, as did Kevin.

“Got it pretty bad, huh?” Kevin grinned.

Dean glared over his shoulder at the younger boy, this time managing more ferocity than just a few minutes ago.  Kevin shut his mouth and went back to picking at his food.  Dean went through the fridge, finding yet another bottle of alcohol.  It wasn’t liquor this time, just a regular beer, but still.

“Seriously, Dean?” Sam groaned.

“Best thing to numb the pain,” Dean replied, lifting the beer.

“Why don’t you just take aspirin or something?  We have a couple demons to hunt.”

“Do we have any aspirin?” Dean asked smartly.

“…I don’t think so…” Sam admitted.

“Then there ya go,” Dean sneered.

“Dean, you can’t be drunk on a hu—“

“Okay, you know what, Sammy?” Dean interrupted, “One, yeah I can.  I’ve done it before.”

“That Shojo doesn’t count.”

“Yes, it does.  And also not what I was talking about,” Dean snapped, “Two, I don’t need you telling me what I can and can’t do.  I’m getting fuckin’ sick of that.”

Sam threw his hands up in innocence, confused to what Dean was talking about.

“And last, I swear to god, if you two keep talking above a whisper,” Dean growled, “I will skin you both alive and feed you to the wolves.”

With that, Dean turned and strode out of the kitchen, throwing the cap of the beer aside and taking a long drink.  Kevin glanced up at Sam, eyebrows raised in concern.  Sam didn’t return the look, he just stared after Dean.  Not even five minutes later, Dean was back in the kitchen, tossing the beer into the trashcan; visibly flinching as it shattered in the bottom of the can.

“So, are we goin’ hunting or what?” Dean asked.


	3. Some Fresh Air

“Dude, this is ridiculous.  You need to lay off.”

“What?  A guy can’t have a beer after getting his ass kicked by some punkass demon?”

“No,” Sam snapped, “Especially not when he got his ass kicked because he kept flinching and recoiling from every loud noise and bright light because he was still hung over!”

Dean had been drinking pretty much nonstop since Zeke said Cas had to go; the only time he hadn’t been drinking was either when he passed out or when they were hunting the two demons Crowley had ratted out.  The hunt had started out just fine, but went sideways as soon as guns started firing.  The noise was too loud, for Dean anyway.  Nearly every shot had him flinching or covering his ears, making it all too easy for a demon to get a jump on him.

“I was not hung over,” Dean stated.

“Really?” Sam asked sarcastically, “Oh right, because the best cure for a hangover is another drink, right?”

Dean gave a single nod and took another drink of his beer. 

“If you’re that worried about Cas, then go check on him!” Sam shot.

“The hell makes you think this has anything to do with Cas, huh?” Dean growled.

“Maybe because you started binging right after he left?”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam; he had a point there, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

“Coincidence,” Den muttered, “And I’m not binging.”

Sam stared at him in disbelief, then giving him the bitchiest bitchface he could muster.  He didn’t have words for Dean, he just kept staring at Dean; some part of him hoping it would get him to break and admit something.  But this was Dean, it took more than staring to break him.  All Dean did was finish off his beer and get up to grab another.

“You’re gonna get alcohol poisoning,” Sam sighed, “Or liver cancer.”

“No, I won’t,” Dean called over his shoulder.

Sam rolled his jaw and scowled at Dean’s seat, waiting for him to come back.  When he did, he walked right past the table and continued on to his room; wordlessly saying he was done with this conversation.  Sam crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair.  He could throw out all the alcohol, but Dean would just buy more.  He could take Dean’s wallet, cut all the cards and take the cash, but they stole people’s wallets and cards all the time.  Dean would just take someone else’s.

Sam ran his hand down over his face and pushed himself to his feet.  He wasn’t going to make any progress with Dean, at least not tonight.  But he could make progress with Crowley.  He walked down the halls to the storage room-disguised dungeon and pulled back the steel frame shelves.

“Morning, Moose.  Or is it afternoon?” Crowley smirked, “Maybe night.  Hard to say when you’re stuck in a windowless, pathetic excuse for a dungeon.”

“Give us more names and maybe you’ll get some air,” Sam replied dryly.

“Oh, trouble in paradise?”

“Names, Crowley,” Sam growled.

“What’s got your antlers in a knot?”

Sam’s lip twitched in annoyance.  Maybe he wasn’t going to make progress with Crowley either.  He grabbed a small sheet of paper off the shelf and a crayon.  He didn’t question why the Men of Letters had kept a box of crayons in with the boxes of files, but they did.  Sam figured it was probably for cases like this; keeping a demon chained up for information, having them write something down when they were feeling cooperative.  Crayons were a better choice than a pen or pencil; the demon couldn’t pick a lock with a crayon.

Sam put the two objects on the table in front of Crowley before turning and leaving; slamming the doors shut on him and shutting the lights off again.  He heard Crowley mutter ‘ _Bullocks_ ’ as he exited the dungeon.

 

Dean sat on his bed, legs stretched out and crossed at his ankles.  One arm draped across his stomach and the other holding his beer against his thigh.  He hadn’t downed it as quickly as Sam might be thinking, instead just nursing it.  He slowly lifted the bottle to his lips and took a short sip, not even bothering to lift his head from the bed’s headrest or open his eyes.  His neck felt sore and somewhat stiff, probably because of the ass kicking that demon gave him, and everything was still too bright for him. 

Sam had been right in that he had started drinking because Cas left, but that wasn’t why he was binging.  At least, not the whole reason.  At this point, Dean was starting to think that maybe his headache, which he refused to believe was a result of being hung over, might be something a little more severe if bright lights were still hurting his eyes hours later.  Drinking was the only thing that helped to alleviate the pounding headache behind his eyes.

Dean took another small sip and then scooched down his bed a little until he was lying flat on his back.  He threw one arm over his eyes, grimacing as the throbbing worsened a bit before subsiding to a mild bother.  He blindly set the bottle on the floor, not caring enough to reach for the nightstand, and draped that arm over his stomach with a deep sigh.  He tried not to think about anything and just let his mind go blank; it seemed like thoughts only aggravated his headache.  Eventually, he managed to push all his thoughts, even the ones considering checking in on Cas, out of his mind and drifted off to sleep.

 

A few hours later, he woke to the sound of Sam banging on his door.  Dean groaned and gave a raspy shout for Sam to knock it off.  Sam yelled something about dinner, but Dean did his best to ignore him.  He rolled over on his side, keeping his eyes shut and trying not to move his neck as he did.  Sam opened Dean’s door; he was sure Sam was fixing him with another bitchface as he crossed over to his bed.

“Dean, come on.”

“Go away,” Dean grumbled.

“If you’re gonna keep drinking, fine.  Whatever.  But you need to have something else that isn’t alcohol in your system,” Sam said.

Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulder and tried to shake him.  Dean wretched his shoulder from Sam’s hand, wincing at the movement it caused in his neck.

“Seriously, Dean.  Five minutes or I’m dragging you out,” Sam warned.

He heard Sam walking away and buried his face in his arm, taking a deep breath.  He layed still for another minute before slowly pushing himself up and blinking several times at the pain of the light.  He stumbled off his bed, knocking over the beer he’d left on the floor.  Dean groaned, rubbing the side of his face and standing to retrieve a towel from the otherside of his room.  He picked up the bottle, setting it on the nightstand and dropped the towel over the spilled liquid; he’d actually wipe it up later. 

Dean took another deep breath, shrugging his shoulders and then immediately regretting the motion.  He started off down towards the main hall, keeping his eyes down to keep the light-aggravation to a minimum.  With the way Kevin and Sam were looking at him, they probably thought it was the alcohol.  Let them think that, it was fine with him.  He dropped down in the chair across from Sam and gingerly started poking at his food with a fork.  Dean glanced up to see Sam staring at him with a face that said he had thirty seconds to start eating or else Sam was going to lecture him.  He grumbled inwardly and forced himself to start eating.

Dean wanted to say something to break the silence, but he had no idea what.  After only a few bites of his food, he decided he didn’t even want to eat and pushed his plate back.  Kevin raised his eyebrows at him and glanced at Sam.  Kevin muttered something about working on the tablet before excusing himself and taking his plate with him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not hungry,” Dean shrugged.

“You’re always hungry,” Sam deadpanned.

“I am not,” Dean huffed.

“The only time you’re not hungry is after you cleaned off your plate,” Sam said, “And that is nowhere near cleaned off.  So, again, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.  Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine.”

Sam stared at him.

“What about you?” Dean asked.

“How many times are you gonna ask me that?  You know I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you keep sayin’ that.  But you’re the one who almost died,” Dean swallowed thickly at the lie, “Not me.”

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing his plate back as well.

“Well, am I wrong?” Dean challenged.

“No, but really, if anything was wrong with me, I’d think we’d know by now.  And I’m not the one binging,” Sam reminded him again.

“Oh, not this again…” Dean groaned.

Dean rubbed his eyes, trying to alleviate the throbbing pain that had come back.  He knew Sam was lecturing him about his drinking habits, healthier ways of venting and probably something about Cas.  But he didn’t hear any of it, his headache was coming back quickly at full force.  Dean just muttered whatever agreements he thought were necessary to get Sam to shut up sooner; Sam’s louder than normal tone wasn’t helping his headache much.

Although Dean often sat with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, the fact that he wasn’t moving his hands from his face told Sam he wasn’t listening.  Sam quickly got fed up with him and left the table.  Dean silently thanked whoever was listening for that mercy as he rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes before pushing himself up.  He went to the kitchen to retrieve a fresher, cold beer.

As soon as he opened the fridge, the beer no longer sounded appealing.  In fact, nothing in the fridge sounded all that great.  But he was thirsty, so he settled for grabbing a bottle of water and heading back to his room.  His stomach gave a weak rumble, reminding him that he did need to eat.  With nothing the bunker sounding appealing, he decided to grab his keys and head into town to get something.  Fresh air would probably do him some good too, he thought. 

Dean texted Sam that he was leaving, not feeling like looking through the bunker for him or Kevin or yelling that he was leaving.  He made his way to the garage and got in the Impala, starting it up.

“God, Baby, why you gotta be so loud…?” he mumbled to himself.

He kept the windows rolled down as he drove through town; the cool even air felt nice.  Unfortunately, he came across the same problem as at the bunker.  Nothing sounded good.  He just didn’t have an appetite.  Rolling his eyes with a sigh, he pulled into a parking lot to turn around and head back.  Only to pause when he realized which parking lot he was in; the one belonging to the hotel he’d put Cas up in.

He stalled a minute longer before pulling into a parking space and getting out.  He was already here, so he may as well just check in on Cas.  Hopefully, he hadn’t brought any pyscho reapers into his room.

Dean mentally cursed out the hotel’s bright chandelier in the lobby and the way it reflected off the polished tiles.  The elevator and hallway weren’t much better, but at least the light wasn’t reflecting off the floor now.  He nearly lost his balance just before Cas’ door, but caught himself.  He pulled the spare key card out of his wallet and knocked a couple times to let Cas know he was coming in before sliding the card and opening the door.  Dean stumbled over his feet, grunting inwardly and scowling before looking to find Cas looking at him curiously, holding a bowl of popcorn.

“Hello, Dean…” Cas greeted, somewhat surprised at his appearance.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean managed a half smile, “Wanna tell me why smells like burnt popcorn in here?”

“There were a few small packages of popcorn on the tray beside the TV when you brought me here,” Cas said, “But the directions did not relate well to the microwave.  This is the only bag that did not produce small black charcoals.”

Dean shook his head with a sigh; leave it to Cas to burn three bags of popcorn before figuring it out.  He straightened up, walking into the room and trying to hide the flinch when the door slammed shut.

“If I may ask, why are you here?” Cas asked.

It might sound a little rude to anyone else, but Dean was used to Cas’ blunt questions.  There was almost never any malice behind them, he just didn’t exactly know how to be tactful in some situations.

“Went out to get somethin’ to eat and thought I’d check up on ya.  Just to make sure you’re not, y’know…” Dean gave a half-hearted wave.

“Dead?” Cas guessed.

“Yeah.”

“I have not allowed anyone else to enter the room and I don’t think the angels know I am here.”

“Well, good.  Great, uh…”

Dean nodded once, turning for the door.  Cas was alive and just fine, that was all he needed to know.  _Needed_ to know.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Would you…like to stay for a bit?  I’ve found a show I think you’d like.”

“Yeah, why not?  Sammy and Kev will be fine,” Dean replied.

He crossed the room to take up the far side of the bed as Cas settled back into the bed.  Clearly, he’d been marathoning whatever show it was for a few hours now.  Cas set the bowl of popcorn between as he picked up the remote and resumed the show.

“What’s it called?” Dean asked.

“Game of Thrones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ended this chapter with a little fluff huh? you know what that means right?


	4. [Don't] Worry

Seeing Cas had put Dean’s mind at ease, though only a little bit.  He wouldn’t admit it, but it kind of hurt to see the former angel doing just fine without him.

Dean stumbled through the door of the bunker, trying to fight back the sense of dizziness that had suddenly overwhelmed him.  He braced against the railing of the balcony, checking to see if either Sam or Kevin were down there and had seen him stumble.  Sam would probably say it was because of hunger and that he needed to eat something, which was probably right.  Dean just didn’t want to hear it.  He made his way down the stairs, keeping a steady hand on the railing just in case, and went to the kitchen.  He opened the fridge door and stared inside, practically hanging on the handle of the door for support.   Hearing the sound of someone coming, Dean straightened himself up.

“Y’know, when most people say they’re going out to eat,” Sam started, “They’re usually not gone for almost six hours.”

“Decided to make a stop,” Dean murmured.

“Checking up on Cas?”

Dean hummed in response.

“About time,” Sam grumbled, “How’s he doing?”

Dean turned around, mustering up as much spite as he could into his smile.

“He’s just fine,” Dean snapped.

“Okay, why do you get all short with me whenever I mention Cas now?” Sam demanded.

“It’s not you I’m being short with,” Dean sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Really?  Then who are you talking to?  Because I’m the only one here.”

Dean grimaced, realizing his mistake.  Instead of trying to talk his way out  of the situation, he just stared at Sam; it would’ve been a glare if he felt any better at the moment.  Sam stared back in confusion and was about to ask what his problem was when Ezekiel picked up on it.  The confusion disappeared from Sam’s face leaving Ezekiel’s impartial expression.

“Dean, if you continue to snap at me while your brother is conscious, he will become suspicious of what’s going on,” Ezekiel said.

“I know, I know…”

“Then why do you continue doing so?  Your brother is being healed and you said Castiel is just fine.”

“He’d be better if he were here.”

“I told you, it would not—“

“Be safe?  Yeah, and I told you the bunker was perfectly safe.”

“Dean—“

“Nothing’s ever gotten in here that wasn’t let in,” Dean bit, “So, unless you’re gonna change your mind, go back to taking a nap in the back of Sam’s head.”

Ezekiel scowled at Dean, biting back whatever argument he had.  He took a deep breath before retreating and Sam’s previously confused expression came back.

“Why’re you staring at me like that?” Sam asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean grumbled.

He swung the fridge door shut, without getting any food, and headed off towards his room.  He ignored Sam calling after him, using all his mental power to focus on keeping his steps balanced and even.  As soon as he reached his room, he stripped down to just his t-shirt and jeans before collapsing on the bed.  He didn’t even bother grabbing a pillow or covering with a blanket.  He just laid perfectly still, with his eyes closed, in state of semi-consciousness.  The weak hunger gnawing at him was the only preventing him from falling asleep completely.

About an hour later, with his head pounded worse than before and his stomach giving pained growls, Dean shakily pushed himself up.  He felt dizzy and out of breath, attributing both to a lack of food.  This time he would get something to eat, no matter how unappealing anything seemed.  He made his way to the door, on unsteady feet, and fell back against the wall when the bright lights of the hallway hit his eyes.  He stayed slumped against the wall, rubbing his eyes and trying to adjust to the light.  As soon as it was tolerable, he continued on down the hall to the kitchen.  He didn’t say anything to Sam, sitting at the table and transfixed on his laptop, although he did kind of want to apologize for snapping at Sam.  This mess wasn’t his fault; it was Zeke’s.  But right now, the most important thing on Dean’s mind was getting his stomach to stop giving those painful growls.

As expected, nothing in the kitchen sounded good.  By Dean sifted through all the cabinets, the pantry and the fridge in hopes of find something he could force down. 

“C’mon, anything…” Dean murmured, “ _Anything._ ”

The only thing he found was a small carton of strawberries.  Of all the things in the kitchen, those strawberries were the only thing that didn’t sound completely repulsive at the moment.

“Frickin’ rabbit food…” he sneered.

He glared at the berries for a second before reaching in the fridge and popping their lid open.  By the looks of them, Sam had already washed them.  Dean plucked one up and bit it off its top, then just stood there with it in his mouth.  He couldn’t even bring himself to chew it.  It was like all of a sudden, he really didn’t want it anymore.  He didn’t have to like it, but Sam was right; he did need to get something in his system.  His lip twitched in disgust as he forced himself to chew the strawberry and swallow it.  He shut the fridge, flicking the strawberry top in the general direction of the trashcan.  It tasted awful, but at the very least it had made the thought of drinking something more appealing.

However, Dean didn’t exactly have the best record when it came to making good choices and now was no exception.  Instead of something good, like water, he grabbed a glass bottle of vodka; the one he’d been drinking from the other night.  He stared at the bottle in his hand, trying to count how many days it had been; his recent screwed up sleeping habits messed with his sense of time.  But he remembered that Zeke had made him kick Cas out on Tuesday.  Dean glanced at the clock hanging on the wall of the kitchen.  Thankfully it was one of those that also displayed the day, which happened to now be Saturday.  Four days.

Dean ran his hand down his face with a sigh and grabbed a glass from the cupboards.  He wasn’t going to take the whole bottle again, he just needed enough to ease his non-stop headache and stiff neck long enough to get his appetite back.  He trudged back into the main hall with a full glass; more than people typically poured of straight vodka.  Not feeling that he could keep himself steady long enough to get back to his room, he dropped into the chair across the table from Sam.  Sam glanced up from his laptop at Dean for a moment before flicking his eyes to the glass in his brother’s hand.  Dean gave him a tired glare that told him to not even start.  Sam shifted in his seat, biting back whatever he was planning on saying.

“So, guess what I found,” Sam said.

“What did you find?” Dean asked dryly, rubbing his eyes.

“While you were ‘sleeping’,” Sam started, implying Dean had been passed out, “I found all these wires running through the bunker, but they didn’t connect to anything nearby.  So I followed them and you remember how Kevin said this place went on lock down?  With all kinds of alarms and warnings going off?”

“Mm-hmm…”

“These wires go straight to the bunker’s central computer, like this massive super computer,” Sam continued, “And I think, if we can get it working again, we could use it to track all the fallen angels.  I mean, he did say one of the maps lit up locations of groups of angels when they fell, so—”

“We’d have an angel tracker.”

“Exactly.  But the computer’s outdated and I have no idea how to get it working again or how to get any info off it,” Sam said, “So, Charlie’s coming over.”

Dean nodded once, forcing a smile.  He liked Charlie just fine; more than that actually, she was kind of the sister he never got to have.  But she was just so full of energy and chatty and sometimes a little loud; all the opposite of what Dean wanted right now.  He thought that maybe he could sneak off before Charlie got there, but that hope was dashed as a knock echoed from the door at the top of the stairs.  Again, he had to work himself up to not appear as crappy as he was feeling.  Charlie skipped over to Sam giving him a hug and looked like she was going to do the same with Dean until she saw he was a little worse for wear.

“Hey, Freckles,” Charlie chirped, “Rough night?”

Sam cleared his throat and flicked his eyes to the glass in Dean’s hand.  Charlie picked up on the hint and changed the subject.

“So, where’s this beast you were talkin’ about?” she smiled.

“Down this way.”

Charlie followed Sam’s lead to the start of a hallway before pausing and turning back.

“You coming, Dean?” she asked.

“Sure, why not?” he grumbled.

Charlie smiled again and went to catch up to Sam.  Dean ran his hand over his face again, taking a deep breath and pushing himself up.  He moved slowly to make sure he didn’t stumble or lose he balance like he was sure he was going to do.  But neither Sam or Charlie seemed to notice how long it had taken him to catch up to them; they were too busy talking about computer things Dean didn’t completely understand.

“This is computer?  Thing’s looks like a giant mega-block…” Dean mumbled.

“It’s state of the art, Dean,” Sam said, not looking up.

“For the 1950s, anyway,” Charlie added.

Dean leaned against one of the machines, taking a sip of vodka as Sam and Charlie discussed how to get the computer working again or find out what it knew.  Dean took another drink, screwing his eyes shut and hissing silently as the liquor burned more than normal.  Still, Sam and Charlie took no notice and Dean wants to keep it that way.  But when he can feel a coldness seeping into him, he knows if he stays in the room much longer, they’ll know something’s up.  He makes some excuse to leave, much to Charlie’s disappointment.  As he leaves the room, he can taste the bile slowly rising and moves as quickly as he can without falling against a wall or tripping over himself.  At this rate though, he won’t make it to the bathroom.

Against better judgment, Dean decides to run; accidentally dropping the glass against the hard floor.  Two seconds later, he’s slamming the door to the bathroom shut, hugging the toilet and throwing up vodka, a single strawberry, and stomach acid.  Mostly acid.

“Dean, are you okay…?” Charlie asked through the door.

Thank God it was Charlie.  Dean spit in the toilet again and cleared his throat.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m good.  Just, uh…Bad vodka,” Dean replied, “Don’t drink the stuff in the fridge.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said shortly.

He heard Charlie mumbled something on the otherside of the door, but it must not have been meant for him.  Dean let out a breath, flushing the toilet and he shakily stood up and went over to the sink.  He turned on the cold water, leaning down and taking a drink to rinse the acidic taste from his mouth.  Then he splashed the cool water over his face; everything was starting to feel too warm again.  He dried his face off and walked out, planning on laying down for a few minutes before trying to eat something again.  He kept his hand lightly pressed against the wall to help keep himself steady as he silently hoped he wouldn’t see Charlie or Sam.  Of course, he didn’t.  They were probably cleaning up the broken glass and spilled vodka.  Dean frowned at himself; he should be cleaning that up.  But he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. 

Dean stripped down to just his jeans and then flopped onto his bed, wincing as he did, and buried his face in the pillow.  It was only supposed to be a few minutes, but he ended up falling asleep.

 

Sam walked back into the computer room, after disposing of the broken glass.  Charlie looked up from her tablet.  Sam pulled out the chair in front of the large panel and sat down, rubbing his face.

“So, Dean…kinda threw up,” Charlie said awkwardly.

He glanced up at her.

“But he said he was fine, it was just the vodka.”

“’Course he did,” Sam sighed.

“Think it’s something else?”

“I dunno, he’s been kinda off lately,” Sam shrugged.

“How come?”

Sam shrugged again.  He’d thought it was because of Cas, but since Dean didn’t seem to get any better after visiting him, he was thinking that it was something else.  But with Dean’s lack of information sharing, he had no idea what.  Sam sat back in the chair, thinking for a moment before pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialing a number.

“I don’t think there’s tech support for a 1950s super computer,” Charlie joked.

“That’s why you’re here,” Sam replied with a breathy laugh.

He wait as the phone rang before a rough voice finally answered.

“Hey, Cas, you got a minute?” Sam asked.

“Hello, Sam.  And yes, I do have some spare time.  Do you need help with something?”

Cas sounded almost hopeful.

“Uh, kinda.  I wanted to ask you, um, when Dean came over yesterday did he…did he seem okay to you?”

“He seemed a little bothered and upset by something, but whatever it was did not upset him for long,” Cas replied.

“Okay, but I mean like…like physically, was he okay?”

“Tired perhaps, he did fall asleep a few times.  But otherwise, fine.  Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure, he’s just acting kinda of weird,” Sam said, “…I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“Please, do.”


	5. Dizzy Isn't Fun

Cold.  That was the first thing Dean noticed as he slowly woke up; everything was freezing cold.  He shivered and curled in on himself, finding part of the reason he was so cold was because he was wearing only pants.  The second reason being he was laying on top of all the blankets, not under them.  Lastly, as he begrudgingly cracked his eyes open, he saw the bedroom window was wide open. 

Dean gave a weak grumble of annoyance as he rolled over and kicked a blanket out from under himself and pulled it back up over him.  Sure, closing the window would be more effective at stopping the cold, but he didn’t have the will power to get up at the moment.  He shifted and settled back into a semi-comfortable sleeping position, closing his eyes again and feeling relief from the stinging pain the light brought.  He let out a sigh, drifting back to sleep, only to be jerked back the sharp ring of his cell phone.  Dean snarled and buried his head beneath the pillow.  It was only one ring; a text message.  He decided it could wait, if it was really important, whoever would call or text again—

There was another sharp ring; another text.  Dean groaned and propped himself up on his elbow, rubbing his eyes with his other hand before reaching for the phone on the night stand.  The phone’s screen wasn’t too bright anymore, since he’d adjusted its brightness setting the other night, but it still wasn’t very pleasant.  He opened up the text to see it was from Sam.

_ 12:15pm:  _

_‘If you don’t answer me in two minutes, I’m calling you.’_

Dean furrowed his brow and went back to look for previous texts.  He found four more of them.  With a sigh and an eye roll, he opened each one starting with the first.

_ 9:46am:  _

_‘Got another demon name from Crowley.  Following a possible lead, tried to wake you up.’_

_ 10:58am:  _

_‘Are you awake yet?  God, you’re lazy.’_

_ 11:37am:  _

_‘Seriously, Dean.  You never sleep in THIS late.’_

_ 12:00pm  _

_‘You sure you’re okay?’_

Dean groaned and went back to Sam’s most recent text, quickly typing out a response before his two minute warning was up.

_ 12:16pm: _

_‘Yeah, I’m fine, Sammy.  Just didn’t hear my phone, chill.’_

_ 12:17pm: _

_‘It’s about time, Jesus… What were you doing?’_

_ 12:18pm: _

_‘I was in the gun range.  You better not have taken Baby.’_

_ 12:18pm: _

_‘You’re gonna make yourself deaf again.  And no, I didn’t take your precious car.  I couldn’t find the keys.  If you’re not doing anything else, try to get more info out of Crowley.  I won’t be back til tomorrow night, this is taking longer than it should.’_

Dean stared at the screen. 

_ 12:20pm: _

_‘Again?  The hell are you talking about?’_

_ 12:21pm: _

_‘The night Cas left, you got wasted and went to the gun range.  Without ear plugs or ear muffs, idiot.’_

_ 12:21pm: _

_‘…Real men don’t need that crap.’_

_ 12:22pm: _

_‘Whatever, just get something out of Crowley, okay?’_

_ 12:22pm: _

_‘Fine, bitch.’_

_ 12:23pm: _

_‘Jerk.’_

Dean sighed and tossed his phone back onto the nightstand as he rolled onto his back.  He covered his face with his arm, trying to decide if he actually wanted to get up or just lay there and go back to sleep.  As much as he preferred the latter, his stomach growled in protest.  With a curse, Dean sat up slowly and dragged himself to the bathroom.  He felt like crap and a glance in the mirror told him he looked the part too.  He narrowed his eyes at his pale, tired, and borderline sickly reflection.  Dean grabbed the corner of the mirror on the medicine cabinet, unfortunately empty, and opened it, turning the mirror away from himself.  He turned on the hot water of the shower, stripping off his jeans and boxers, and stepping under the hot spray.

Again, he was tempted to just go back to sleep, but it was hunger that kept him awake.  He finished up his shower, drying off and getting dressed.  Dean closed the medicine cabinet, bring the mirror back around.  He looked better; less pale and sickly, at least.  He shrugged and left his room, heading down to the kitchen, telling himself to eat anything.  Anything at all.  Even if it was just a piece of bread. 

He kept telling himself that as he went through all the cabinets, the pantry, and the fridge again.  He was about to slam the pantry shut for the dozenth time when he noticed something he hadn’t before; three cans of tomato rice soup, just sitting off to the side.  Mary had always made tomato rice soup for him when he was sick and it had always made him feel better.  Plus, it didn’t sound repulsive like everything else in the kitchen.  He snatched one of the cans off the shelf; he’d rather have fresh-made tomato rice soup, but he wasn’t in the mood to cook.  Or even check if they had all the ingredients to make it.  This was faster anyway and he was starving.  

A few minutes later, he was sitting at the table with the steaming bowl of soup in front of him.  He idly stirred it, waiting for it to cool and trying to convince himself to eat it.  He hadn’t changed his mind on wanting it; it was just a matter of actually making himself eat.  Dean sighed and quickly took the first bite, feeling the hot soup burn down his throat.  It was a good kind of burn though, unlike the alcohol last night.  He waited a second, making sure he didn’t get the sudden urge to vomit again.  When he didn’t, the soup was gone in a heartbeat; now going on nearly five days without more than a bite or two of food has that effect. 

He had to admit, he was feeling better already as he set the bowl in the sink with the other dishes piling up.  Sam and Kevin almost never did the dishes.  But Dean would take care of them later.  For now, he just wanted to go lay back down and sleep; his head and neck were still throbbing in pain, though the food had definitely taken the edge off.  Half way to his room, Dean remembered Sam had told him to get more information from Crowley.  And while Sam wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night, he knew Sam was waiting for a text on some kind of update.

Dean considered just sending a text that said Crowley wasn’t talking, but he had the feeling Sam would find out he was lying.  On top of that, Dean really didn’t want to add another lie to the list.  Dean spun on his heels to turn towards the dungeon, an action he regretted as he was hit with a wave of dizziness.  Dean reached out, bracing himself against the wall and standing there until everything stopped spinning.  With a steadying breath, he let his hand slide from the wall and continued down to the dungeon; opening the doors that felt heavier than normal.

“Ah, Squirrel, didn’t go with Moose on the goose chase, eh?” Crowley smirked.

Of course, Crowley would send Sam on a goose chase.  Maybe it was a good thing Dean hadn’t gone, he could get straight information out of Crowley and put Sam on the right track.

“Yeah, about that…” Dean started, “Why didn’t you just tell Sam where the demon was?”

“Why would I do that?  I don’t even get to stretch my legs.”

“Hm, I guess I just kinda thought you two got a little ‘buddy-buddy’ after the whole incident at the church,” Dean replied, “Sharin’ a fox hole…and your feelings.”

Crowley shifted a bit, but said nothing.

“You said you just wanna be loved, right?”

“What do you want?” Crowley snapped.

“Well, not loved,” Dean snipped, with a smirk, “I want you to be a little more specific with Sam.  Where’d you send him and where _should_ you have sent him?”

“Let me walk around and I’ll tell you,” Crowley offered.

“Not gonna happen.”

“Oh, come on, I’ll still be in this bloody devil’s trap,” Crowley grumbled.

Dean rolled his eyes and walked to the side of the room, where a handful of weapons and a few small boxes were kept.  He could feel Crowley watching him as he opened one of the small boxes and took out a rough cloth that wrapped up half a dozen syringes.

“What are you doing?”

“Tell me where the demon is and you won’t have to worry about it,” Dean replied.

Hearing no response from Crowley, Dean picked up an empty syringe and a small flash of holy water.  He drew the water up into the syringe, thinking back to the last time he had done this with Alistair.  Dean turned around, slow enough to not make himself dizzy again, and held up the syringe for Crowley to see.  Crowley tensed and swallowed thickly.

“I had heard you were Alistair’s star student.  But that doesn’t seem all that impressive.  Then again, I never really found Alistair to be all that great,” Crowley said, “Just creepy.”

“Yeah, ‘Master Torturer in Hell’ doesn’t sound impressive at all, does it?” Dean asked.

He walked over around the table, coming to stand next to Crowley and looking at the syringe in his hand.

“You know, even Alistair didn’t enjoy this too much,” Dean mused, “Last chance to tell where the demon is.”

“Fat chance,” Crowley growled.

Without hesitation, Dean stabbed the needle into Crowley’s neck and injected the holy water.  A scream of pain tore from Crowley, filling the dungeon and causing Dean physical pain at the volume.  Dean gritted his teeth to keep himself silent as he ripped the needle out of Crowley’s neck, only having emptied half the water it held.  Crowley relaxed, going quiet again and breathing hard as he turned to glare up at Dean.

“Fine.  Have it your way,” Crowley huffed, “Moose is off somewhere in west Oklahoma…”

“And where should he be?” Dean pressed.

“…Southern Colorado,” Crowley forced out.

“Good boy,” Dean grinned.

He clapped Crowley on the shoulder, earning a sneer from the demon.  Dean ignored him, moving back around the table to put the syringe back with the others.  Once he did, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text telling Sam the reason his hunt was taking longer than it should have was because he was in the wrong state.  Dean stuffed his phone back in his pocket and turned to walk out of the dungeon, only to be hit by another sudden wave of dizziness; this time much worse. 

Dean stumbled and tripped over his feet, falling and hitting the ground hard.  Crowley quirked an eyebrow as the hunter tried to get up.  But everything was spinning and tilting, leaving Dean unable to get his bearings.  Anytime he got to his knees, it seemed like the room tilted dramatically to one side and he subconsciously tried to compensate it; landing himself back on the ground.  He managed to brace himself on his hands and knees, closing his eyes and willing everything to stop spinning.

“Well, this is interesting,” Crowley noted with amusement.

“Sh-shut up,” Dean growled.

Dean slowly and shakily got to his feet, his hand immediately grabbing the edge of the wall where the shelves hinged as doors.

“Does little brother know?” Crowley asked.

“I said shut up,” Dean barked.

At his attempt to straighten up, Dean fell back against the wall.

“I’ll be sure to tell him when he gets back,” Crowley smiled, “Unless, I get to walk around and air myself out.”

Dean’s lip twitched in annoyance as he staggered over a few feet, back to the side of the room with the weapons.  He grabbed a pistol off the rack, knowing it was pre-loaded with ten rounds and switched off its safety.  He fired three of the rounds into Crowley, wincing and grimacing at every loud shot.

“I think you’re aired out enough,” Dean snarled.

“Smartass…” Crowley breathed.

Dean didn’t bother putting the gun back on the rack, or even switching the safety back on.  He just left it on the bench with the unwrapped syringes as he shakily made his way out the dungeon; using all his strength to slam the doors shut.  He stormed out of the dungeon, reaching out for anything to help balance him until made it back to the main hall.  He hated that it seemed like to get anywhere in the bunker, you had to go through the main hall.  Dean sank into a chair at the table, cradling his head in his hands and held perfectly still.

“Hey, Dean, you okay?”

Dean slowly looked up to see Kevin peering around a bookshelf at him.

“I’m fine,” Dean grumbled, returning his head to his hands.

“You sure?  Because you’ve been sitting there like two and half hours…”

Dean glanced up at him again in confusion, then pulled out his phone and check the time.  Kevin was right, he had been sitting there for two and half hours.  He’d thought it was only a few minutes.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Dean sighed, “You keep working on the translating Metatron’s tablet.”

“You mean…Metatron’s spell…?”

Dean tilted his head.

“Or the angel tablet?”

“…What’s the difference?  Metatron’s a dick with wings too and his spell’s on the tablet _he_ wrote, ain’t it?”

“Y-yeah, I guess,” Kevin mumbled.

He wanted to say something else to Dean, but thought better of it and disappeared behind the bookshelves again.  Dean ran a hand down his face before daring to heave himself up from the chair again.  The following wave of dizziness was weak and didn’t drop Dean to the floor like the last one, which he was thankful for.  What he wasn’t thankful for the rising taste of acid in his mouth.  He kept his mouth firmly shut as he walked quickly to the bathroom, breathing deep to try and stave it off. 

Just like last time, Dean slammed the door shut and dropped to the toilet just in time.  His whole body tensed and he emptied his stomach into the bowl.  He was left shaking and clinging to the porcelain for support as he spit the acidic taste out and weakly reached up and flushed the toilet.  He didn’t bother getting up to rinse his mouth, instead choosing to just move to sit against the edge of the bathtub.  He could feel its cool surface pressing against his hot skin through the fabric of his shirt.  He let out a breath, leaning his head back to rest on the tub’s edge despite the pain in his neck; the cool surface against his head was worth it.  He closed his eyes, granting him relief from the bathroom lights, and drifted off to sleep with a deep, calming breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh dear, someone's not getting better afterall, huh?
> 
> kudos and comments are awesome~


	6. You Don't Look Fine

Dean was startled awake by the sharp ringing and vibrating of his phone on the tile floor.  He immediately regretted the sudden movement of flinching and wanted to smack whoever it was that had set his phone off.  His phone continued to vibrate and ring, playing a distinct tone.  Only three people had their own ringtones on his phone; Sam, Kevin and Cas.  This one happened to Cas’.  Dean stiffly sat up, pulling away from the edge of the bathtub that had propped him up all night, and rubbed the crook of his neck.  Sleeping that way had only made his neck feel worse. 

He tiredly reached out for the phone, letting his hand just fall on it before picking it up and bringing it to his ear.

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asked, trying to sound better than he felt.

“Dean, the card you gave isn’t working,” Cas answered.

“…Huh?  What card?”

“The credit card you gave me.  In case I wanted to buy something.  It isn’t working, the cashier said it was declined,” Cas explained.

Dean tipped his head back, closing his eyes and thinking.  A second later, he remembered he had given Cas a credit card and that said card, like all their others, was stolen.

“Did— Did the cashier say anything about it?” Dean asked.

“She said it’s coming as ‘lost or reported’.  I don’t know what to do.”

“Ugh, okay, I’ll be there in a minute.  Where are you?”

Cas told Dean which store he was at, one that was only about a mile or so away from the hotel he was staying at.  After telling Cas to hold on and hanging up, Dean staggered to his feet, falling against the bathroom counter as he did.  He pushed himself away from it and made his way down the hall, swaying with nearly every step as a feeling of dizziness threatened to overwhelm him again.  He made it to the garage, only bumping against a wall three times, and fell into the driver’s seat.  He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the loud roar of the Impala’s engine.  It didn’t help; in the garage, and with his still lingering, splitting headache, the engine sounded as loud as a war zone.

Driving up through the tunnel leading in and out of the Men of Letters was fine; it was dark, save for a handful of old yellowed lights.  It was once he was out on the road in the daylight that was the problem.  Despite being an overcast day, it felt so bright that he may as well have been staring at the sun.  Dean leaned over, fumbling through the glove box in search of his sunglasses.  They gave him little relief, but it was better than nothing.

Thirty minutes and a few confused, wrong turns later, Dean pulled into the parking lot of the small grocery store.  Dean gently shut the car door instead of practically slamming it like normal and kept his sunglasses on until he came to the doors of the store.  Only douchebags wore sunglasses inside, he reminded himself.  He saw Cas standing a few feet away, looking a little paranoid as he shifted in place.  Cas was relieved to see Dean walking over to him.  Being that it was a small grocery store, it wasn’t busy and Cas stepped up to the cashier who had told him the card was declined.  She perked up, standing up from leaning against the checkstand, and gave them a small smile.

“Which card did you use?” Dean asked.

He’d forgotten which card he’d given him and sometimes he and Sam used a few cards belonging to one person.  If the owner of this card had reported this one, they’d need to get rid of any others that might belong to them as well.

“This one,” Cas said, pulling a gold colored card from his pocket.

Dean caught the cashier’s eyes flicking from the card to both their faces with a trace of suspicion in her eyes.

“Oh, that’s were that one went,” Dean breathed.

Cas narrowed his eyes, tilting his head in confusion.

“I didn’t know you had it, thought I lost it so I called to have it reported.”

Dean slightly inclined his head towards the cashier, then Cas got it; Dean was trying to shake the cashier’s suspicion.  It must’ve worked because any wariness in her eyes suddenly became some kind of amusement, her face saying ‘oh, you two are together, huh?’.  Dean pursed his lips at the implication of her expression, but made no effort to argue against it.

“I’ll just, uh, use this card if that’s alright,” Dean said, pulling another card out of his wallet.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” the cashier smiled, “Just give me one second here to pull his order back up.”

She typed a few numbers on the keyboard, swiped a white card and then Cas’ order appeared in full on the screen as she glanced over her shoulder and asked a bagboy to bring it back to the checkstand.  Cas’ order wasn’t a big one, only two bags coming to about twenty-dollars.  Dean paid for it and took the bags, to Cas’ slight objection, and lead him out; trying to ignore the mischievous smile the cashier flashed as they turned to leave.

Dean pulled the car door open, finding it strange that it felt heavier than normal, and put the bags in the car.  Cas glanced at him curiously.

“Get in, you’re not walkin’ back,” Dean mumbled.

Cas made no objections to this.  He gladly walked around the car and got in the passenger seat as Dean got in.  The small, nearly inaudible wince that escaped Dean as the engine started didn’t go unnoticed by Cas.  But he didn’t say anything about, figuring that it may not have anything to do with the rumbling noise.  Both of them were quiet on the drive back to the hotel, at least, they were until Dean missed the turn.  Cas furrowed his brow, turning in his seat and looking back at the missed turn before looking at Dean.

“Are we going somewhere?” Cas asked.

“Just back to the hotel,” Dean shrugged, “Did you want to go somewhere?”

“I, well…the turn was back there, so I wasn’t sure.”

“No, it’s this one right here.”

Cas frowned at Dean; this wasn’t the turn.  Cas may not know Lebanon very well, but he knew the immediate area of the hotel.  Dean rounded the corner, continuing on a few blocks before pulling to the side of the road and holding his hands up in confusion.

“What the hell?” Dean muttered, “Did they move the freakin’ thing?”

“No, Dean,” Cas replied cautiously, “I told you, you missed the turn.”

Dean opened his mouth to object, to say that he knew Lebanon like the back of his hand, but quickly shut his mouth as he felt that acidic taste beginning to rise again.  He clenched his jaw, running a hand over his face and keeping it over his mouth for a second until the taste went away.  He dared a glance at Cas; that too hadn’t gone unnoticed by the former angel.  Dean said nothing as he turned the Impala back around and drove back to the turn that Cas said was the right one.

He could’ve just let Cas out and gone back to the bunker.  In fact, he probably should’ve done just that.  But instead, he found himself following Cas inside.  Dean focused on the straight lines of the tiled lobby floor to keep himself walking in a straight line.  He held on tightly to the handrails in the elevator and walked a few steps behind Cas, keeping his hand trailing along the wall for balance as they walked down the hall.  As Cas fumbled with the card key, Dean stood behind him, swaying in place and feeling a chill sweeping over him.  Cas got the door open, holding it open and tilting his head in concern at Dean.  Dean barely managed to move his leg in time to disguise the forward sway as a step.

Cas put both grocery bags in the mini-fridge, not bothering to unpack them.  He turned to face Dean and saw the hunter looking very pale and tired, with a thin sheen of sweat starting.  Then Cas remembered Sam calling to ask if Dean had been alright and his concern grew more.

“Dean, are you alright?”

“What?  Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,” Dean mumbled, managing a weak half smile.

“You don’t look fine,” Cas stated.

“You don’t look fine,” Dean shot back.

Cas cocked his head at the lame comeback; Dean wasn’t always very good at comebacks.  But still, rather than looking sheepish after saying it, as always, Dean just looked confused; like he didn’t know what had prompted him to say that.  He shook his head, grimacing at the pain.

“I should, uh, get back to the bunker before Sammy gets back.  Don’t need him blowing up my phone if I’m not there,” Dean joked.

Cas watched Dean take a step, swaying dangerously far to one side.  Cas flinched, quickly closing the space between the two of them and grabbing Dean by the shoulders to steady him.

“Whoa, easy, Cas,” Dean smirked, “Wha— What’re you doing?”

“Dean, you are not alright.  I cannot let you go like this,” Cas said firmly.

“Nothing’s wrong, just a little tired,” Dean grumbled.

Cas scowled at him.  He pushed Dean back a step, surprised to find little resistance, and pressed down on the taller man’s shoulders.  If was surprised a second before, he was shocked at how Dean just crumbled onto the bed and made no move to right himself.  Cas leaned over him, turning Dean’s head to make him look at him.  Dean raised his hand, lamely trying to push Cas off.

“Knock it off, I’m fine,” Dean forced out.

“You are not, this is not ‘just a little tired’,” Cas growled.

“Alright, fine, I’m kinda hungry too, Jesus….”

Cas moved aside and Dean sat up.  He leaned too far forward and Cas failed to catch him before he fell to the floor.  Cas was over him in a heartbeat with Dean waving his arm to keep Cas off, but it did nothing.  Cas wrapped his arms around Dean, feeling the concaved shape of his stomach, and helped him back up onto the bed.

“When was the last time you ate?” Cas asked.

“Ate and kept it down or ate and threw up?” Dean groaned.

“Uh, t-the first.”

“Five days ago, when you left…”

“Dean, I left six days ago.”

“Well, shit.  There ya go,” Dean laughed dryly.

“I may not be an expert at this…human living, but I’m certain it’s extremely unhealthy to go for so long without eating.”

“Oh no, I’ve tried to eat, it just doesn’t stay down,” Dean defended.

Cas frowned at him, gently pushing on Dean’s shoulder to make him lay down.  Dean complied reluctantly, throwing an arm over his face as Cas went back over to the mini fridge.  He heard Cas rummage through, open something, and put it in the microwave.  Dean tensed his jaw, knowing Cas was making one of those frozen microwave dinners and that he was probably going to make him eat it.

“Cas, don’t worry about it,” Dean sighed, “I’ll get somethin’ back at the bunker.”

“If you don’t eat something now, you won’t make it back to the bunker.”

Dean moved his arm enough to glare at Cas, who stood with his back turned.  He made a sound of annoyance, moving his arm back and giving up; he didn’t feel like objecting much more.  The microwave hummed for another minute and a half, before beeping shrilly; much to Dean’s displeasure.  He heard Cas take the dinner out and felt the bed dip as he sat beside him on the bed.  Dean didn’t move.

“Dean, sit up,” Cas said.

“Cas—”

“Sit up or I will make you.”

Dean peeked up at him.

“I lifted you on to the bed, don’t think I can’t make you sit up as well.”

He rolled his eyes with a groan; being manhandled once was enough.  Dean propped himself up on his elbows and he scrambled back up the bed, sitting against the headboard to support himself.  He warily eyed the dinner that Cas held out to him, it didn’t look bad for being a frozen dinner.  Mashed potatoes that didn’t look dried out, chicken breast that actually looked like chicken, stuffing that didn’t look like a soggy mess.  The dinner looked fine; but Dean still didn’t have much of an appetite.  It was only because of Cas’ threat to force feed him that he accepted it.  As he picked at the food, taking small bites, Cas made his own dinner and sat beside Dean to eat.  By the time Cas was done, Dean had barely ate half of it.  He set it aside, clearly not wanting to eat anymore; Cas scowled at him, but didn’t press him.

Dean sighed, letting his head fall against the headboard and wincing at the fresh wave of pain from his headache.  Cas took the dinner from Dean and threw it in the trash; it wouldn’t be good later, no matter how he stored it.  When he turned around, he couldn’t help but stare at Dean.  It was a little unnerving to see the hunter so pale and still, with his hands in his lap and a clear look of pain on his face.  Cas crossed back over to Dean, fidgeting for a moment before tentatively reaching his hand out and pressing it to Dean’s forehead.

“The hell are you doing?” Dean mumbled.

“I’ve seen many people do this when someone is ill,” Cas answered.

“It’s nothing,” Dean insisted, “Do you even know what you’re checking?”

“Temperature.”

“And…?”

“You’re very warm.”

“Humans are supposed to warm,” Dean murmured, voice going softer.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be this warm,” Cas replied.

Dean gave no response.  Cas removed his hand and took a step back to look at Dean, the slow rise and fall of his chest telling him he’d fallen asleep.  Cas glanced around the room, looking at the clock on the microwave for a second; 2:09PM.  Not know what else to do, Cas sighed and sat back down beside Dean.  The dip in the mattress as Cas sat caused Dean to shift a bit, not of his own volition, and fall to the side.  Cas tensed up at Dean leaned against him, his head resting on his shoulder.  He relaxed a bit when Dean didn’t react.  He even dared to raise a hesitant hand and card his fingers once through Dean’s hair.  He could swear Dean weakly and sleepily tried to follow the movement, like he subconsciously wanted Cas to do it again. 

Cas was tempted to comply, but thought better of it and folded his hands together.  Dean made a slight face of annoyance and nuzzled his head against Cas’ shoulder.  Something had to be very wrong with Dean if he was doing this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are still cool~


	7. Fever Pitch

Dean had hardly moved since falling asleep.  If he did, it was only in response to Cas’ slight movements.  Cas tried not to move, he didn’t want to wake Dean since he apparently needed the rest, but it was difficult not to with the heat pouring off Dean.  It wasn’t the kind of warmth you feel when leaning against or cuddling with someone.  It was the kind of heat you feel when sitting next to fire for far too long.  Cas had tried to move, to at least open the window and let a draft in, but everytime he did, it seemed to cause Dean pain.  So he tried to keep his uncomfortable shifting to a minimum.

It was to the point that Cas was silently hoping Dean would either move away in his sleep or wake up and get off.  And at 10:49pm, his prayer was answered in the form of Dean’s phone ringing so loudly and suddenly, Dean bolted upright and immediately regretted the movement.  His eyes were screwed shut in pain as one hand rubbed at his neck and the other searched through his pocket for the source of the agitating noise.  He fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping it twice, before managing to answer.

“God, what the hell do you want?” Dean growled.

“Hello to you too, Dean, Jesus…” Sam grumbled.

Dean could practically see his younger brother’s bitchface on the other end of the line.  Dean groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his eyes in a vain attempt to make his headache subside.  It felt like it was getting worse everytime he woke up.  Everything was getting brighter and stinging his eyes; louder and intensifying the pounding in his head.  His muscles felt weaker and his skin more sensitive to everything—

“Where are you?” Sam interrupted.

“Um…”

Dean forced his eyes back open, glad the sun had set and there was only one light on in the room.  The room that wasn’t his.  Dean tilted his head in confusion, scanning around the room quickly before settling on Cas and remembering where he was.

“I’m— I’m with Cas,” Dean mumbled.

“You okay?  You don’t sound too good…”

“Ugh, I’m fine, Sammy.  You guys need to quit worrying,” Dean sighed.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I dunno what to tell ya then, man.  I’m just a little worn out, nothing major.”

“Let me talk to Cas.”

“…Why?” Dean asked.

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Just give the phone to Cas.”

Dean rolled his eyes with a groan and held the phone out to Cas.  The former angel glanced between him and the phone.  They both knew that Sam was going to ask for the truth from Cas.  The look on Dean’s exhausted face begged him to lie to Sam. 

Taking the phone from Dean and against his better judgment, he did lie.  He told Sam there was ‘no cause for concern, Dean simply had a few too many drinks earlier’.  Given Dean’s binging habits, Sam believed it.  Although, there was a tone of suspicion to his voice.  Not directed at Cas’ lie, but at Dean’s drinking; Dean never binged unless something was bothering him.  Sam made Cas promise not to let Dean drive unless he could walk without the single slightest sway, which Cas had every intention of doing.  Cas handed the phone back to Dean, who pocketed it and went to stand up.

“Where are you going?” Cas asked.

“Back to the bunker.”

“I…I don’t think you should drive.”

“Both you guys are worrying over nothing.”

“Prove it,” Cas challenged.

“Huh?”

“Prove there’s nothing to worry about.  If you’re fine, you should be able to walk normal.”

Dean clenched his jaw; he knew he’d fail at that.  But that didn’t stop him from taking a deep breath and standing up, willing himself not to sway with the sudden head rush.  Rather than focusing on the lines of the carpet pattern this time, which had only kept him upright before, he kept his eyes fixed on the door.  He took a few steps away from Cas, then Dean spun on his heels to face Cas again, fighting every urge to sway in an attempt to compensate the false-feeling of a tilting room.

“Told you,” Dean smirked, spreading his hands.

Cas frowned at him, like he suspected Dean of some kind of trickery.  Dean just gave him another smug look and headed for the door, letting his smile fall once his back was turned.  One step and Dean was cursing himself under his breath as his step faltered and tripped him forward.  He stood there, leaned over with one hand on the door and the other on its handle, and grimacing as he imagined the look on Cas’ face.  Dean gritted his teeth and peeked over his shoulder; Cas was coming up to him with the kind of expression that said ‘you aren’t going anywhere’.  Dean opened his mouth to object, but quickly shut it as he felt the earlier small meal coming back up.  Conveniently, that was also the moment Cas chose to cut him off.

“Dean, I know I cannot make you stay and I don’t plan to,” Cas said, “But at least let me go back to the bunker with you to make sure you get there alright.”

Dean swallowed down the acidic taste, taking a steadying breathe before replying.

“Cas, you know you can’t do that, man.  Zeke—”

“I won’t stay, just like he wants…” Cas trailed off, momentarily pondering why Zeke wanted him out, “I can take a…cab? Back here.”

“You wanna call a cab to the bunker?”

“I— Uh, no, that would not be the best idea.  I could walk to the closest place and be picked up from there,” Cas answered.

It was a twenty minute drive so there was no way Cas intended to walk the whole way.  He also knew Dean wouldn’t let him do that, but he thought he’d be okay with him walking just a mile or two.  Judging from the look on Dean’s face, Cas was wrong.

“Dean, this is not up for debate.  You are clearly not as well as you think you are.  I think you owe it to me, for lying to your brother, to let me come along.  It would also strengthen the lie that you were drinking; Sam would think I drove you back.”

“You can’t drive,” Dean said bluntly.

Cas scowled indignantly at him.

“Sam is unaware of that,” Cas snapped.

Dean sighed and shook his head, his will to argue quickly fading.  He waved his hand in slight submission and allowed Cas to follow him out of the room without objection.  As before, Dean kept his eyes fixed on where he was trying to go and fought the urge to sway against the dizzying feeling.  Cas was already suspicious of him and he didn’t want to give him more reason to be.  Dean kept his eyes closed on the elevator down, seeking relief from the too-bright lights and nearly falling asleep on the spot.  The ping of the doors snapped him out of it just in time, though.

He made it to the Impala without noticeable incident, but fumbled the keys to unlock it and start the engine.  Cas didn’t miss the wince of pain as the loud engine roared to life.  The ride to the bunker was quiet; Cas didn’t have to correct him on directions this time.  As Dean drove through the short tunnel and into the garage, Cas couldn’t help but stare at the number of classic cars that sat in order, pristine and gleaming beneath the lights.  He absently thought about how even here, the Impala stood out.  But not in the way it normally did, because of its age and styling among modern cars; he couldn’t place why it was he thought it still stood out.  Maybe because he thought about how much more the Impala had probably gone through than these other cars. 

Coasting by them, to the Impala’s place and the head of the line, Cas saw it more as a highly revered warrior taking their place among other soldiers.  He felt a pang of sadness as the thought reminded him of the garrison. 

The sudden silence of the engine and car door slamming quickly pulled Cas out of his thoughts and had him scrambling to get out and follow after Dean.  It really didn’t take much more than a few seconds to catch up to Dean, especially when he lost his footing and fell against one of the cars.  Cas was at his side in a heartbeat, taking hold of Dean’s arm to help him up again.  Dean muttered a ‘thanks’ before continuing on.  He knew he should tell Cas he didn’t need to follow him all the way inside, that he was at the bunker and that was all he’d conceded to, that coming closer might alert Zeke.  But he didn’t.

Sam sat in the main hall, waiting for Dean and fixed him with a bitchface when he appeared in the hallway.  Sam was only moderately surprised when Cas appeared behind him.  Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, leaning against the edge of the hall heavily and rubbing the side of his face. 

“Don’t even start, Sammy,” Dean groaned.

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam huffed.

Dean pushed off the wall, walking towards the table where Sam sat.  There were two steps down from the hallway to the main hall; Dean missed them.  Sudden alarm filled Cas and Sam’s faces, while only confusion flashed across Dean’s face right before hit the floor with a heavy, sickening thud.  Dean reeled in pain, clenching his jaw to stop the short shout of pain.  Rolling to his side and curling in on himself, he caught a blurred glimpse of Sam and Cas fretting over him.

“Christ, Dean!  Are you okay?” Sam panicked, trying to get Dean to sit up with Cas’ help.

“Y-yeah,” Dean ground out, glaring at the steps, “When the _fuck_ did we get those?”

“They’ve— They’ve always been there, Dean,” Sam replied slowly.

Dean glanced up at Sam, confused and not believing him.  But Dean didn’t say anything about it.  Instead, he weakly pushed the both of them away and staggered to his feet, mumbling something about ‘not being a china doll’. 

“You’re bleeding,” Cas stated, voice edged with worry.

Dean pressed a hand to his forehead and then looked at his hand, fingers painted with bright red blood.

“Son of a bitch…” Dean breathed.

Both Sam and Cas remained in place as Dean shakily made his way to the kitchen for a dish cloth to wipe away the blood; it was closer than the bathroom.  Once out of sight, Sam turned on Cas, narrowing his eyes.

“Few drinks too many?” Sam snipped.

“I— He—“ Cas gaped helplessly, fidgeting before continuing, “I…I honestly do not know.  He was like this when he came to get me earlier.”

“Did anything _else_ happen?”

“No, he just slept, but…he felt very warm,” Cas answered.

Sam made a face that Cas thought to be a mix of concern and annoyance before he started off towards the kitchen.  Cas swallowed thickly before going to the kitchen as well.  There, they both found Dean slumped on the floor, holding onto the edge of the sink for support and pressing his face against the cool metal with a pained expression.

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam snapped.

Dean didn’t bother to look up at his brother; he just made a sound that was meant to be of annoyance, but sounded more like a whimper.  Sam lightly smacked at Dean’s hands to make him let go of the sink and caught him as he started to fall to the floor.  This time, Sam immediately noticed the heat radiating off Dean that had made Cas so uncomfortable earlier.  Sam’s brows came together in sudden worry as he pressed his hand to Dean’s forehead. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re burning up…” Sam breathed.

Dean didn’t give any response at all this time.  Sam licked his lips nervously, standing and hauling Dean up with him.  Dean tried to right himself, but it came off as nothing more than a slight movement before his legs gave out; making Sam support his full weight.  Sam nodded for Cas to come help him and Cas did so without hesitation.  He took Dean’s other arm and wrapped it around his neck the same way Sam had done and helped him to carry the now incapacitated hunter towards his room.

Once there, they lowered Dean to his bed, though Sam kept him sitting up right.  Sam told Cas to open the window of Dean’s room and then to get a cold wash cloth; the colder, the better.  While he was doing that, Sam pulled Dean’s jacket off, feeling another wave of heat rolling off him.  He grimaced and pulled the flannel off as well.  He let Dean lay back, earning a noise of relief from him, as he worked Dean’s boots off.  He then pushed his brother’s legs to turn him proper on the bed as Cas came back with an ice-cold wash cloth.  Sam took it, draping it over Dean’s forehead and distantly thinking back to when he himself had spiked a fever from the trials. 

He wondered if Dean had even done this before dropping him straight in a tub of ice water and contemplated doing the same.  He decided that Dean probably hadn’t done that first, but with the heat pouring off him, Sam felt like he should do that.  Right now.  They didn’t have much ice in the bunker, but the tub water ran cold enough.  He went to fill the bath with freezing water and came back to Cas worrying over Dean, looking like he wanted to help but didn’t know how.  Sam walked over to the bed and reached down for Dean.

“Sammy, I swear to god…if you put me in that tub…I will—“

“Do whatever you want, Dean,” Sam snapped.

He grabbed him around the chest, nodding for Cas to grab his legs.  Dean’s protests consisted only of an agitated shift of his arm.  They dropped him down in to the cold water, a little unceremoniously, and were rewarded with a yelp of surprise and splash to the face.  Cas wiped the water from his face while Sam glared down at Dean, who didn’t seem to put up much a fight now.  Despite being fully dressed in a tub of water with his brother and Cas staring down at him, he couldn’t care less at the moment.  It felt nice against his burning skin.  Though the cold temperature also spiked his throbbing headache and made his eyes more sensitive.  Dean just tiredly glared back before closing his eyes with a sigh and allowing himself to sink lower into the water.


	8. Wearing Out

Dean woke up sometime midafternoon the next day, but refused to open his eyes.  He may be feeling better at the moment, but he doesn’t dare jinx it by moving a single muscle.  He just lays there, curled beneath the warmth of his blanket, slowing becoming aware of the fact he’s wearing only sweatpants.  His mind is still slow and groggy from sleep, but he eventually remembers the forced ice bath.  Sam and Cas had left him alone once they were sure he wasn’t going to immediately jump out.  Contrary to what they might’ve thought, he stayed in bath, still fully clothed, until the chilly water became lukewarm.  He’d stumbled out, peeling off his soaked clothes and left them in a pile on the floor as he dried off and pulled on dry boxers and sweatpants before dragging himself to bed.

He couldn’t say he was really all that angry at Sam and Cas for dumping him in the ice bath, it could’ve been done differently though, but it had brought his temperature down enough that the heat under the blanket was pleasant.

Dean let out a content breath, feeling the cool breeze drift in from the open window and ghosting over his face.  He tried his best to stay in the fogginess of sleep, partially in hopes of actually going back to sleep and also because he was perfectly content like this.  But he could faintly hear voices out in the hallway.  One he immediately identified as Sam, the second Cas, and the third…Charlie?  He heard the third voice refer to him as ‘Freckles’; yes, that was definitely Charlie.  Dean grimaced and tugged the edge of the blanket up further as he curled in more on himself; the voices coming closer were making it harder to drift back into that state of semi-consciousness.

He tightened his grip on the blanket, silently begging for them to just leave him alone.  He didn’t want to be coddled like a child with a fever.  For second, their voices paused just outside his door.  He laid there, mentally chanting ‘ _please don’t’_ in hopes that—

“Hey, Freckles, how ya feelin’?”

 _Dammit._   Dean gave no response, thinking that maybe she’d think he was still asleep or she’d get the hint and go away.  The sound of her footsteps drawing closer told him that prayer went unanswered as well. 

“C’mon, don’t be a baby,” Charlie sighed.

She sat down the edge of the bed, earning an annoyed grunt from Dean.  He didn’t need to look at her to know there was a small teasing smile on her face.  She leaned over, gently pressing her hand to Dean’s forehead; causing his lip to twitch at the feeling.

“Go ‘way, Charlie,” Dean mumbled.

“What, Sam and Cas get to check your temperature, but I don’t?” Charlie mock-pouted, “That’s not fair.”

“Go ‘way,” he repeated, with much less energy this time.

“Alright, fine, Grumpy,” she conceded, holding her hands up, “But seriously, tell us if you’re feeling worse, ‘kay?”

Dean gave a noncommittal grunt, but it was enough to get Charlie up and walking back out of his room.  Once he heard his door swing shut, he sighed and shifted to settle further into his bed.  He drifted in and out of sleep, never fully waking up, for a few hours until his stomach gave a starved growl.  He tried to ignore it, but it continued incessantly.  With a groan, he stretched out under the blanket, wincing at the soreness in his muscles.  His stomach gave another growl and he forced himself to sit up, rubbing his face as he did.  He was sure with the window being open, he should feel much colder than he actually did.

Still, he grabbed a long sleeve shirt hanging out of his drawers and pulled it on as he trudged out of his room.  He didn’t see anyone on his way to the kitchen, much to his relief.  Kevin was probably off somewhere translating, Sam and Charlie might still be working on that dinosaur of a computer, and Cas…well, he had no idea there.  Part of him hoped he was around somewhere, maybe helping Kevin, but the other half hoped he’d gone back to the hotel because of Zeke’s warning; he felt a knot of displeasure at the latter thought.

Food didn’t sound as horrible as he had the past few days, but Dean still couldn’t decide on what to eat.  At the sound of approaching footsteps, he grimaced and put that decision on hold.  He closed the pantry doors, turning to face whoever it was with a bitchface of his own.  A second later, Sam walked into the kitchen.

“Dean, I need to speak with you.”

Scratch that, _Ezekiel_ walked into the kitchen.  Dean rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes with sigh before looking at Ezekiel with what he hoped was a more intense bitchface than before.

“I swear to God, Zeke, if you say anything about C—“

“Of course, it is about Cas,” Ezekiel interrupted, “I tried to be understanding enough to allow him to stay for a short time while he and Sam tended to you.  But as you are better than you were last night, he must go.  Now.”

“Jesus Christ…” Dean groaned, “What the hell is your problem with him?”

“I have told you, it’s not saf—“

“If you say ‘it’s not safe’ one more time, I will punch you.”

“How would you explain that to Sam?” Ezekiel challenged.

“I…I will deal with it when the time comes,” Dean said, “Now either tell me what your problem really is or poof off and let Cas do whatever.”

Ezekiel narrowed his eyes in warning at Dean as he shifted his shoulders; Dean’s expression didn’t change.  He gave Dean one more look that said this wasn’t the end of the discussion before his eyes light up bright blue, making Dean wince, and leaving a confused Sam behind.  Sam glanced around the kitchen and behind himself before looking to Dean for an answer.

“Why am I in the kitchen?” Sam asked.

Of course, it would be too much trouble for Ezekiel to take Sam back to wherever he was when he took over.  He probably did that to take a shot at Dean.

“Dude, how the hell should I know?” Dean groaned, “I don’t even know why _I’m_ in the kitchen…”

That was the truth, unfortunately.  Dean knew he’d gone into the kitchen for some reason, but he couldn’t remember what that reason was at the moment.  Dean held himself straighter as he walked past Sam, trying to keep his steps in line; though a few of them weren’t quite right.  Sam rolled his eyes, turning on his heels and starting after Dean.

“Dean, hold on just a second,” Sam called.

He caught Dean by the shoulder and spun him around to face him, throwing him off balance in the process.  Dean managed to quickly take hold of a nearby chair and steady him, before trying to compose himself in a vain attempt to make it look more casual.  The color draining from his face as the acidic taste in his mouth rose didn’t help his attempt either.

“You…you’re gonna be sick, aren’t you?” Sam asked.

“No,” Dean replied tensely, swallowing down the taste.

“Seriously, Dean.”

“I…I’m fine, Sammy,” Dean breathed, “Don’t worry about it.”

“You had a really bad fever last night and you expect me to think you’re fine?  Dean, I’m not stupid, something’s wrong with—“

Dean held up his hand to stop Sam, who gave an annoyed look of indignation.

“Hold that thought, just one sec, Sammy,” Dean murmured.

Without waiting for another word from Sam, Dean turned and walked off as fast as he could while maintaining his balance and not stumbling.  With the bathroom door in sight, he even tried to run.  However, that just resulted in him falling into the wall, twice, before collapsing on the floor in front of the toilet.  He screwed his eyes shut held onto the porcelain as his whole body contracted and his mouth was filled with the foul taste of stomach acid and something coppery.  Dean sank down on the floor, still holding onto the toilet, and tentatively opened his eyes to see small traces of blood staining the bowl.  That would explain the copper taste.  It also aided in him remembering why he’d gone into the kitchen; he needed to eat something, especially if he was going to continue throwing up, or else it would tear at his stomach and throat.

Dean waited a minute longer, making sure he wasn’t going to throw up again, before flushing the toilet and slumping back against the wall.  He took a few deep, calming breaths and pressed against the cool tiles; he could feel his temperature rising again.

“Dean.”

Dean peeked one eye open and glanced over to the door, which he’d failed to close in his haste.  Cas stood in the door way with concern clear on his face.

“Fuck…” Dean muttered, “How long you been standin’ there?”

“Long enough.  Are you alright?”

Dean was tempted to say that yes, he was fine; but he didn’t for two reasons.  One, he really didn’t want to open his mouth unless it was to wash out the horrid taste in his mouth.  Two, saying he was fine was now his most fallible and bullshit lie.  He even distantly thought that a blind person could see he wasn’t alright. 

Rather than give any kind of vocal answer, Dean just made a vague groan of discontent, silently willing Cas to go away.  Being that he wasn’t an angel who could hear his thoughts anymore, and that he wasn’t the greatest at cues like this, Cas did the opposite.  He crossed the small distance of the bathroom and kneeled beside Dean.  Dean tried to glare at him, to give another hint for him to leave, but it came off as too tired.  Cas said nothing as he wrapped Dean’s arm around his neck, circling his own around Dean’s waist, and helped to stand up.

“’m not a frickin’ china doll…” Dean grumbled quietly.

“I am aware you are not a small porcelain doll,” Cas replied.

Dean gave a short huff; it might’ve been a laugh if he were feeling better.

“You are the greatest hunter I’ve ever known,” Cas continued, “And I am simply helping you.”

“An’ how many hun’ers have you known, huh…?”

“Generally speaking, I have known of thousands.  But I have only personal knowledge of perhaps ten,” Cas answered.

Dean gave another huff as Cas led him back to his room.  Cas supported nearly all of Dean’s weight; his steps were too uneven and he stumbled too much.  Once in his room, Cas intended to lay Dean down on the bed gently.  But Dean apparently had a different idea as he let himself slip from Cas’ hold and flop down onto the bed.  Cas tilted his head at the way Dean laid, it looked uncomfortable, but Dean made no move to right himself. 

“Would you like me to do anything?” Cas offered.

He made sure not to say ‘need me to do anything’ because he knew Dean would just comeback saying he doesn’t _need_ anything.  Even this phrasing was pushing it with Dean.

“Just close the curtains,” Dean mumbled against the sheets, “’S too frickin’ bright…”

Cas nodded once, moving around the bed and drawing the curtains.  He left the window propped open to let the cool air continue to drift in and hopefully slow Dean’s rising temperature.  In the short time it took him to that and turn back to Dean, Dean was already asleep again.  Cas let out a breath and walked quietly out of the room and back down to the main hall.

Sam and Charlie, who had also stayed, sat at the table talking to each other; about what, Cas couldn’t tell.  Kevin was also at the table, though a few seats away and not partaking in the conversation; he was too engrossed in the tablet.  Cas took a seat beside Sam, he didn’t really known Charlie than their few minutes of interaction earlier, and tried to avoid the curious stares from them both.

“So, ya gonna tell us or do we have to actually ask?” Charlie prompted.

Cas shifted in his shift, looking up but still not at Sam or Charlie.

“He’s sleeping,” Cas said simply.

“Again?” Charlie asked.

“Yes.”

“Anything else?” Sam pressed.

“He, um, ‘threw up’ and is very warm again,” Cas replied.

“God, Dean…” Sam sighed, “We’re gonna have to find a way to take him to the doctor’s or something.  They’ll be the only useful help.”

Cas knitted his brows together in confusion at the peculiar glare from Sam, like Sam was subtly accusing him of something.  Even Charlie seemed a little put off by it.

“Hey, we’re useful,” she pouted, “And last time I checked, you guys never went to the doctors’.  Like, ever.”

“No, I know you guys are trying, but obviously this isn’t something he’s just gonna kick after a few days and none of us have any medical knowledge.  So we’re gonna need someone who knows what they’re doing.  I mean, it’s not like Cas can just mojo him better or anything.”

“Uh-huh…” Charlie hummed, sliding a suspicious glance to Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas never met Charlie, did he?  
> comments are still awesome, btw  
> EDIT: pls note this was written and completed before s10 even started


	9. Take it Easy

Even with his head buried beneath the two pillows, Dean was still aware someone had walked into his room and just opened up the curtains.  Nearly no light made it to his eyes, just the dim glow that told him it was noon.  But, it was still enough to make him groan and clutch the pillows tighter as he curled in on himself a little more.  Now waking up against his will, Dean could hear the heavy footsteps of the asshole who opened the curtains; definitely too heavy for Charlie or Kevin and Cas knew he wanted the curtains closed.  Dean clenched his jaw, debating whether or not he wanted to give up his shields from the light.  He heard the footsteps stop beside his bed and he knew they were waiting for him to sit up and probably snap at him.  As much as Dean didn’t want to, that was exactly what he did.

“The hell did you do that for, Sammy?” Dean snarled, throwing one pillow back and wincing at the brightness.

He didn’t get any response.  Dean blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the light as he pushed himself upright.  Once his eyes focused, he noticed the way Sam was standing; the way he held himself.  Dean’s mind was a little slow from the sleep, but he suddenly felt more worn out when he realized that was not Sam; it was Ezekiel.  _Again._

“I don’t even wanna hear it, so piss off,” Dean growled, dropping back down.

“Dean—”

“No.”

“I can heal you,” Ezekiel offered.

Dean layed still, replaying the words in his head.  He shifted slightly, still processing what Ezekiel said, before throwing both pillows from the bed and bolting up right.  He was on his feet and in Ezekiel’s face so quickly, especially given how ill he’d been feeling, that he made the angel flinch back.  The sudden movement gave Dean a head rush and he swayed before grabbing onto Sam’s— Ezekiel’s jacket for balance.

“Are you serious right now?” Dean whispered harshly.

Ezekiel gave a single nod.

Dean tightened his hold on his jacket and dragged him down that little bit to be eye level with him.  Dean blinked a few more times, struggling to keep focus, but spoke in an unnervingly even tone.

“Then why _the fuck_ haven’t you done it, huh?”

“I was…not aware of your illness at first,” Ezekiel said, “Like Sam, I also thought you were merely hung-over at first.  When it progressed, Sam’s memories suggested it was minor and nothing to be concerned with…That you would ‘kick it’ after a few days, but I see now that is not the case.”

“You been goin’ through Sam’s memories?” Dean growled.

“Not intentionally,” Ezekiel defended, “He brought them up on his own.”

Dean glared at him for a moment longer, slowly letting go of his jacket when he was sure he could stand without losing his balance.  He waited a second for Ezekiel do something, but the angel made no move to help.

“Well?  Make with the healin’ mojo already,” Dean snapped.

“I will…” Ezekiel started, “…Once Castiel has left.”

Dean gritted his teeth together, breathing deeply in an effort to stay calm.  He let himself fall back to sit on the edge of the bed, still glaring up at Ezekiel.

“How about…you fix me.  Then I take Cas back,” Dean countered.

“I cannot be sure that you would follow through on that.  Sam’s memories suggest your tendency to lie.”

“Yeah?  Do they suggest I ever go back on my word?” Dean challenged.

“…No.  But I’ve heard about you and your brother.  You would find a way around this.  Take Castiel away and then I will heal you,” Ezekiel stated firmly, “Until then, I will do nothing.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest further, but Ezekiel ended the discussion with a blue flash in his eyes.  Again, Dean was left with a confused Sam.

“…Dean?” Sam prompted.

“What?” Dean bit.

“Why I am in your room?”

 _Because Zeke’s an ass._   Dean sighed and ran a hand down his face, propping himself on his elbow against his knee.  He glanced over his shoulder at the window, regretting it immediately, before looking back to Sam.

“Because you’d thought it’d be a good idea to wake me up by openin’ the damn curtains,” Dean shrugged.

Sam nodded slowly, believing it; thankfully.  He did think that Dean had been sleeping far too much over the past several days.  As he turned to leave, he muttered something about coming back in a few minutes to make sure Dean had stayed awake.  Dean waited until Sam was gone before rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes and standing up.  The room tilted back and forth several times before seeming to level out and even then, when he took a step forward, his whole body felt as heavy as lead.  It was probably only because of his rush of anger at Ezekiel he hadn’t felt it when he jumped up.

He knew he should probably just straight to Cas and take him back to the hotel, but he really didn’t have the willpower for that; even with Ezekiel’s offer of healing.  Instead, he went for the kitchen again, thinking at this point he’d probably die of starvation before whatever sickness plaguing him killed him.  Luckily, he was spared the trouble of having to make something.  There were a couple plates left on the counter, because no one liked doing dishes, that still had leftovers from breakfast on them.  Ordinarily, Dean might give eating someone else’s partially eaten food a second thought.  But as he scrapped the food onto one plate, he really didn’t see much of an issue.  He was already sick, what more could happen to him?

The scrambled eggs didn’t taste all that great, but that was more due to the fact they were cold, not because he was ill; although, that didn’t help.  Likewise, the biscuit with sausage gravy was also cold, but it still tasted fine.  He picked slowly at the food, unsure if the next bite would make him throw up, but he managed to finish it nearly twenty minutes later.  He left the plate on the counter, knowing full well it would be there later, and walked off to go find Cas.

Dean was actually a little proud of himself, having only stumbled and bumped into something twice by the time he found Cas in one of the research rooms with Kevin.  He was probably trying to help Kevin translate, though just like the first time Cas had seen the tablet, he still couldn’t read it.  Kevin looked like he was trying to hide his thoroughly annoyed expression as he told Cas whatever he suggested wasn’t right.  Dean leaned against the doorframe, allowing himself a small half smile; why couldn’t it stay like this?

“Cas,” Dean edged out.

The former angel looked up from the tablet at him.  He gave a gentle nod over his shoulder, not daring to throw off his own balance or renew the headache that was only a dull throbbing now.  Cas excused himself from Kevin, much to the prophet’s relief, and walked over to Dean.  He could tell by the look on the hunter’s face, no longer the pleasant one just a few seconds ago, that it was time for him to leave again.  Cas glanced up at Dean, understanding in his eyes, before he ducked past him.  Dean sighed and pushed himself from the doorframe and followed Cas down the hallway.

Neither of them said a word throughout the bunker, nor when they got in the Impala, whose engine didn’t seem to bother Dean quite as much.  It was still too loud, given the still present headache, but not as bad as it was the other day.  It wasn’t until the entrance to the bunker’s garage was well out of sight before Dean spoke.

“You sure there’s no reason Zeke would want you gone?”

“We were good friends,” Cas shrugged, “The only reason I can think of is that he is wary of me after what I did in heaven when I believed I was God.”

Dean tilted his head in understanding, but he didn’t think that was the reason Ezekiel wanted him gone.  Cas was human and didn’t pose much of a threat, at least, not at the moment.  Dean was sure once Cas had the full grasp on being human, he’d be just as fierce as before.

Nothing more was said, but Cas did keep glancing at Dean from the corner of his eyes.  He’d looked better when he came to get him, but that was quickly wearing off.  Cas thought that maybe Sam had had a point last night, maybe Dean should go see a doctor.  He wasn’t an expert on illnesses, but he knew anything that lasted more than a few days was usually serious; especially if it was afflicting someone with ordinarily perfect health.

When they came to the hotel and Dean moved to get out of the car, Cas told him he didn’t have to walk him up to the room.  Seeing the confused and hurt look on Dean’s face, Cas wanted to take it back, but he didn’t.  Instead, he only told Dean to go back to the bunker and get some rest.  He glanced over his shoulder back at the Impala to see Dean still looking hurt and confused before angrily throwing the car into gear and flying out of the parking lot.  Cas stared after the black car, regretting his choice, until the car was out of sight.

Dean hardly bothered with being careful as he drove back to the bunker.  Even then, he drove through the bunker’s tunnel to the garage a little faster than he should have and came too close for comfort to another car.  He muttered a curse as he threw the door open and dinged the car beside his; he’d fix it later.  He fell against another car as darkness crept in on his vision and threw off his balance, but he shook his head to clear it away; gritting his teeth at how it aggravated his headache and the pain in his neck.  He pushed off the car and staggered a few steps before regaining enough balance to walk in a straight line and stormed through the bunker.  By the time he reached the main hall, he was out of breath, dizzy and too hot again.

Charlie and Kevin glanced up at him as he bumped into the table, bracing his hands against it to stay up right.  Charlie immediately dropped her tablet and rushed to Dean’s side to hold him steady as he swayed too far to one side.

“What— What’re you doing here?” Dean asked.

“I—“

“Nevermind, that’s not important,” Dean waved, earning a light, confused scowl from Charlie, “Kevin, where’s Sam?”

“I-I think he went on a beer run or something,” Kevin answered, “Dean, are you okay?”

“Seriously, you look pretty bad,” Charlie added.

“…Thanks,” Dean snipped sarcastically, “I’m—I’m fine, I just need to talk to Sam.”

“Well, sit down then.  I don’t think he’s gonna be back for a while,” Charlie said.

Dean didn’t object as Charlie gave him a light push down into a chair.  Even though she’d hardly forced him, he fell into the chair like someone had dropped a heavy weight on his shoulders.  Both Charlie and Kevin watched him with concern as he rubbed a hand down his face, wincing as he did so.  Charlie reached out to press her hand against Dean’s forehead, only to have it brushed away.  He knew what his temperature was.  Well, not exactly, but he knew it was too hot.  He felt like he was burning up under his clothes, but refused to do anything about it until Sam was back and he’d had a chance to talk with him.

Both Charlie and Kevin kept a close eye on Dean as they waited for Sam.  When he started to tremble, Charlie was about to say she was going to take him to the hospital, but it was at that second they heard the front door open.  All three of them turned to look up the stairs, Dean wincing at the light, and were met with a wary, suspicious expression on Sam’s face.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“Dean is—“

“I need to talk to you,” Dean ground out.

“Okay…”

Sam came down the stairs, setting the bag of beer on the table as Dean forced himself to his feet.  He waved his arm for Charlie and Kevin to leave, both of them gathered up their stuff and hurried off to another room.  Dean straightened himself up in a vain attempt to look better than he felt.

“I need to talk to you,” Dean repeated.

“I’m right here and it’s just us,” Sam said slowly, “What’s wrong?”

“No, I need to talk to _you._ ”

“Yeah, it is me.  Dean, I really think you should—“

“ _You_ ,” Dean emphasized with growing impatience and anger.

“Dean, what are y—“ Sam’s breath hitched with a blue flash in his eyes, “I assume you want me to heal you now?”

“No shit,” Dean growled, “But I also want you to tell me what the hell’s up with you and Cas.”

“I have told you many times—“

“Yeah, I know,” Dean interrupted, “But he’s always put himself on the line for his friends, so I wanna know why you won’t do…do t-the same for him.”

Ezekiel tensed slightly at the question, swallowing thickly.

“H-he said you guys were good friends, so…so…goddammit, would you just fix me already?” Dean snapped.

Darkness had nearly over taken his vision and he was sure that he swaying, despite his hold on the chair.  He saw Ezekiel say something to him, but he didn’t hear it.  He didn’t even hear his own voice, how weak it sounded, when he asked ‘what?’  The last thing he saw was a look of surprise on Ezekiel’s face as he reached out to grab him, a blur of the ceiling, then complete darkness; unconsciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna make another run for some Destiel in the next chapter...also more guilt and worry  
> thoughts, comments?


	10. Trip to the ER

Dean always hated being unconscious; not that anyone likes it.  He hates losing a sense of time, being vulnerable, the length of time it takes to regain consciousness, and even from that time, how long it takes to actually wake up.  He was at the point that he was conscious, but couldn’t bring himself to actually wake up just yet.  His mind was struggling to bring back the memories of the few seconds he’d momentarily regained consciousness over the past however many hours.

The first one, after he initially passed out, was a blurred memory of someone picking him up off the floor.  It had to be Sam, Kevin and Charlie weren’t strong enough to pick up his dead-weight on their own.  Plus, he was sure he’d seen Charlie on the phone, frantically calling someone. 

The memory faded out and left Dean sleeping for a short while before his mind managed to drag up the next one.  He was in the Impala, not driving obviously, and mumbling for Sam to pull over.  Of course, Sam refused, but that didn’t stop Dean from opening the door and leaning out.  Then Sam hit the brakes and pulled off the road just as Dean threw up again.  Even through the hazy memory, Dean remembered seeing blood in the vomit; more than the first time. 

It couldn’t been more than a few minutes before the next memory came to mind, the time between consciousness there must have been short.  Now he was in the back seat, he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there, but he was laying down; that’s probably why he was in the back seat.  But he wasn’t laying completely flat, he was resting his head on something….someone’s leg? 

There was a few minutes before he remembered what happened on his next bout of consciousness.  Sam was nearly running ahead of him to get to the desk of the emergency room while someone carried him.  He arm was around their shoulder, their other arm was tight around his waist to keep him up.  He remembered being held like this once before, not just how they were holding him, but exactly how it felt.  He knew who it was; Cas.  The memory faded out as Cas carried him through the doors. 

The extended darkness now told Dean there was nothing else he was conscious for after that.  Despite that, it still took what felt like the better part of two hours for him to manage opening his eyes.  Everything was swimming, blurry and still too bright; not enough to cause too much pain now, but it wasn’t pleasant either.  With a sigh, he closed his eyes and tried to use what little of his current mental power to focus on seeing.  He opened his eyes again, blinking several times.  Everything was still bright, though to a lesser degree, only slightly blurred but his vision was no longer swimming.

 _Hospital room.  Right._   That would partially explain why everything was bright, it was nearly all white in the room.  The fact that the curtains were open, letting in bright morning sun in didn’t help.  He lowered his gaze to the digital clock sitting on a small table not far from the bed; _6:23 AM_.  Dean grimaced; normally he’d probably still be sleeping.  He wanted to keep sleeping.  Well, his body did; his mind rejected the idea completely.  He shifted in the bed, quickly finding a number of wires attached to him.  _Of course._   He settled back into the bed, trying to get comfortable again as his eyes drifted over to the other side of the bed; someone was there with him.  Blinking a few more times and narrowing his eyes to focus, his mind finally registered that it was Cas sitting there, apparently sleeping.

Dean made a weak attempt to sit up, but gave up when it became clear he didn’t have the strength.  Once again, he settled back down and glared up at the ceiling before turning his head towards Cas again.  He sat there, slouched in the chair with his head propped up on one hand, lips parted by a sleep-slack jaw.  For some reason, Dean suddenly felt more relaxed as he continued watch Cas sleeping.  If he were feeling better, he’d probably laugh at how the roles were reversed now; it was Dean watching him sleep, not the other way around.  But he was still felt completely worn out, so he settled for a small half smile and watched him until he spaced out.  It wasn’t until Cas woke up, blinking once before jolting upright, that Dean tore his gaze from the former angel.

“Dean, you’re awake,” Cas noted, “Are you feeling better?”

“Not really,” Dean murmured, “…feel like shit…”

“If it’s any consolation, you at least look better,” Cas offered.

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not as white as snow and your fever’s gone down,” Cas added, “But you do look…’worse for wear’.”

Dean lazily rolled his eyes with another half smile, dropping his gaze down to his hands in his lap.  Feeling like he did, his amusement was quickly drained from him.  He spaced out for a minute, maybe two, until his mind came back to him.

“Where’s Sam?”

“He’s trying to sort something out with insurance, I believe.”

Dean hummed in acknowledgement, not lifting his eyes.  At some point, much to his later chagrin, Dean fell asleep again.  An hour later, Dean woke up again.  It was much easier this time, but, although he wouldn’t admit it, he was disappointed Cas wasn’t there now.  Instead, it was Sam sitting in the second chair messing around on his phone.  Probably texting an update to Charlie or Kevin, Dean didn’t know if they were there or not.  Sam glanced up, realizing Dean was awake again, and the tension and worried eased out of his face as he stuffed his phone in his pocket.

“Hey, you alright?” Sam asked.

Dean frowned inwardly; everyone who walked in the room was going to ask him that, one way or another.

“D’you remember…” Dean started, mumbling, “When I got electrocuted with a hundred thousand volts?”

“Yeah, we hunting a Rawhead and you were in the water with it and tazed it anyway,” Sam said, “Gave you a heart attack and almost killed you.”

“Well that’s how I feel right now,” Dean sighed.

Sam gave a short, dry laugh.

“Maybe I should find another faith healer,” Sam grinned.

“T’guy was weird…”

“Definitely a little zealous for your liking,” Sam shrugged, “But he did save your life.”

Dean was about to say something else, but stopped at the sound of the door opening.  Part of Dean hoped it was Cas and that part was disappointed when he saw it was a doctor.  He sighed, dropping his shoulders, and waited for the inevitable ‘how are you feeling?’ and ‘what symptoms did you have?’ and all that.

“Alright, Mr. Campbell—“

Dean shot a dirty look to Sam; he knew Dean hated their grandfather.  But he softened his glare when he remembered that was also their mother’s maiden name.

“Mr. Campbell?”

“Huh?”

“I was saying, now that we’ve got your insurance straightened out, we can proceed with testing,” the doctor repeated with a hint of annoyance, “However, we couldn’t find any medical records for you.  Is there anything we should know about before we begin testing?”

“Uh, not really,” Dean shrugged.

“No allergies?”

“Cats, but that’s it.”

“Any bad habits?  Smoking?  Drinking?  Recreational drugs?”

This time it was Dean who gave a short laugh.  Sam pulled a bitchface on him, quickly wiping the smile off his face.  Dean cleared his throat and looked back to the doctor who stared at him with a raised brow.

“I, uh…I do drink kinda regularly,” Dean said.

The doctor glanced to Sam, silently asking for a definition of ‘regularly’.

“Few drinks a week, he was doing better til, uh…recently, just before he got sick,” Sam clarified.

Dean gave him a sideways glare.

“Just the drinking then?” the doctor asked.

Dean rolled his jaw, debating whether or not he should say it was just the drinking.  Because he’d only done drugs a few times, but never since Don gave him a bad joint; Dean scowled at the thought.  But, obviously, that was before he’d been given a new body with a clean slate after coming back from hell.  He couldn’t exactly tell the doctor that, though.

“I, uh…smoke sometimes,” Dean admitted.

The doctor was unfazed by that, but Sam looked a little surprised at that.  The look on his younger brother’s face said they were going to talk about that later.  The doctor, noticing Sam apparently had no knowledge of this, glanced to Dean to explain how often ‘sometimes’ was.

“It’s like a pack every month or two,” Dean waved, “I don’t chain smoke anymore.”

Dean snapped his mouth shut.  The last part was entirely unnecessary, had he not just been thinking about how he’d gotten a new body after hell?  All his chain smoking was years before that, between the time left for Stanford and when he went to get Sam from Stanford.  Dean chanced a glance at Sam; they were definitely talking about this later.

“Anything else?” the doctor prompted.

Dean shook his head, telling himself to keep his mouth shut about the drugs.  Sam might have a tiny idea about it somewhere in the back of his head, but there was no need to confirm it; it wasn’t important or relevant.  The doctor nodded, writing down a few things before saying a nurse would be in shortly to draw blood for testing and that he’d be back later to ask a few more questions.  The second the door clicked shut, Sam immediately turned on him.

“Smoking?  _Chain_ smoking?  Seriously, Dean?”

“I just said I don’t chain smoke anymore,” Dean defended, “I quit that after I came back from hell.”

“But you still smoke,” Sam snipped.

Dean gritted his teeth and looked out the window.  Yeah, he still did smoke, but it was just stress smoking.  He’d picked that pattern up after he found out about Sam drinking demon blood.  But he wasn’t about to tell Sam that either; he didn’t want him thinking his smoking was his fault.  Anything more Sam was going to say was put on hold by the sound of the door again.  Dean didn’t think he’d ever been grateful for someone coming to take his blood.  He was even more grateful when it was Cas instead of the nurse.

“…Am I interrupting something?” Cas asked tentatively.

“Nah, ‘s fine,” Dean said, stifling a yawn, “Sammy’s jus’ naggin’.”

Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head and looking away.

“I, um, brought some food from the cafeteria in case you were hungry,” Cas said, glancing down at the tray in his hands, “The nurse said she could take you off the ‘IV’ if you started eating.”

Dean’s eyes flicked to the small bandage on his arm, holding the IV needle in.  He really didn’t like IVs, they were annoying and hindered just about any task; but Dean didn’t want to eat.  Cas seemed to pick up on that and set the food down on the small table beside the clock before sitting in the chair he’d been sleeping in earlier.  The silence that followed was tense and uncomfortable to the point that Sam shifted restlessly before excusing himself.  The silence lingered on a few more minutes, though it was slightly more comfortable.

“You know you should eat, Dean,” Cas prompted, “It would help to heal you faster.”

“Or have me running to the bathroom faster.”

“Well, you must be feeling better if you’re making jokes about your situation.”

Dean glanced at Cas; as much as Cas tried to remain as stoic as he used to be, Dean could still see the worry behind blue eyes.  Dean let out a breath; he was trying to easy that worry the only way he knew how.  He licked his lips and opened his mouth to say something when the door clicked open as the nurse came in.  People were obscenely good at interrupting moments today.

The nurse was friendly enough, though.  She was quick with drawing Dean’s blood, making pleasant small talk and telling him to say anything if it started to make him feel dizzy.  It did, towards the end, but he didn’t say anything because he knew she was nearly done.  He was confident that he had enough strength to hang on to consciousness this time.  Once she turned to leave, Dean yawned and was tempted to just let himself slip into sleep again, but he knew better.  Again, he could see the worry on Cas’ face, but it also looked like something was bothering him.

“What’s wrong now?” Dean murmured, trying to stay focused on Cas.

“Something doesn’t seem right,” Cas replied.

“Yeah, I’m in the hospital.  No part of that is right.”

“No, I— I mean, yes, that is wrong.  But I meant with Ezekiel,” Cas clarified, “Why hasn’t he tried to heal you?”

“He was gonna, after I came back from dropping you off the last time, but uh…this happened and I dunno,” Dean shrugged.

Cas hummed in acknowledgment.  Dean glanced around the room, knitting his brow in thought, before looking at Cas again.

“Y’know what?  How about I go find that winged bastard and make him fix me now?” Dean grumbled.

Cas looked up at Dean’s suggestion, but quickly stood up and stopped Dean from getting up.  Dean scowled up at Cas as he held his shoulder down, that was all the force needed to keep the drained hunter down.

“You should stay here…in case the doctor comes back.  It might cause some alarm if you’re suddenly gone,” Cas said, “I’ll go find Sam.  Or, um, Ezekiel.”

Cas let his hand linger a second longer before it slipped from Dean’s shoulder as he turned and left the room.  Dean stared after him even when the door shut.  Cas meant well by doing that for Dean, and Dean knew that, but he couldn’t help the sense of indignity that followed.  It was practically an insult.  Dean grumbled and sat back, folding his arms and glaring out of the window.  He kept glaring through the glass until a thought slowly began to form.  Cas was going to find Sam; to find Ezekiel.  Ezekiel clearly had a problem with Cas.  Dean had been pushing Ezekiel’s limits by bringing him back to the bunker a few times after he’d told Dean to make him leave.  They were going to be alone.

Whatever color Dean might’ve regained over the past several hours immediately drained from his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so not so much with quilt and worry this chapter, but i promise the next chapter'll have it  
> also, i'm pretty sure Dean smoking is canon...the fact that he asked Cas for a pack of menthols in 9x06 supports this. and in Southern Comfort, he said one of the two things he's learned is to never take a joint from a guy named Don. i think about these things sometimes...  
> comments are still cool, btw. cool like bowties.


	11. Morphine Respite

Dean sat up quickly, trying to push back the dizzying feel and darkness at the edge of his vision.  The wires of the machines monitoring his vitals tugged at his skin, reminding him he was supposed to stay there.  But at the moment, the only thing he could think of was Cas and Ezekiel being near each other and alone; he was suddenly so sure nothing good could come of it.  Without a second thought, he started plucking the wires away from his skin so he could get up off the bed.  Since the machines were monitoring his vitals, and he hadn’t thought about the consequences of removing them, the machines started beeping frantically and alerting the nurses.

He’d hardly had time to throw his legs over the edge of the bed before three panicked nurses and the doctor from before rushed in on him.  Two of the nurses looked relieved to see that he wasn’t dying like the machines had informed them, while the other nurse and the doctor looked thoroughly irritated, thinking he was going to be one of _those_ patients.  The two relieved nurses were dismissed as the doctor and the third nurse walked over to him.  The doctor held up his hand to stop Dean from getting to his feet while the nurse moved around him to take hold of the wires again.

“Mr. Campbell, what are you doing?” the doctor asked.

“I, uh, I need to go find my brother,” Dean replied.

“I’m afraid I can’t permit you to walk around freely just yet.  We still don’t know what’s wrong with you or if it will cause you to lose consciousness again,” the doctor said firmly.

“I feel fine, I just need like ten minutes to go find him,” Dean objected.

“As your brother told me, you said you were fine before and lying about that is what landed you here.”

There was a slight tone of smugness to the doctor’s voice that had Dean narrowing his eyes at the man.  He was about to object again when he felt the nurse pushing him back down onto the bed to reattach the monitors.  Dean’s lip twitched as he attempted to brush the nurse’s hand away.  She sighed and took a half step back, looking at him with an expression that said she wasn’t going to play around.

“Please, Mr. Campbell, this will be so much easier if you just cooperate,” the doctor said, “You’ll be out of here much faster that way.”

“Ten minutes and I’ll go through whatever stupid tests you guys need…need to do,” Dean struggled, already feeling exhausted again.

“I’m sorry, I can’t let you do that.  I can have one of the nurses go look for him, but you have to stay here,” the doctor offered.

At face value, it sounded like a good idea.  But so had letting Cas go look for Sam.  He didn’t want to send some innocent person to possibly walk in on argument or fight between an angel and a former angel.  He’d messed up with Sam and Cas bad enough.  Dean rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to keep focused.

“No, I— I have to go find him, it’s…important,” Dean ground out, weakly batted the nurse’s hand away again.

“Mr. Campbell, if you keep this up, we’re going to sedate you,” the nurse warned.

The doctor showed no sign of disagreeing with her.  They weren’t going to give up, but neither was he.  He took a deep breath, trying to gather up what remained of his strength and attempted to surge up past the doctor and nurse.  The attempt was in vain, he knew it would be, but he had to try.  Both the nurse and the doctor caught him by the shoulders and forced him to lay down.  He struggled as best he could against the doctor’s hold while he nodded for the nurse to grab something he couldn’t see.  Seeing that he was barely causing the doctor any strain by holding him down infuriated Dean.  He was a hunter.  He could kill any monster that walked the earth, could lift anything thrown at him, had come back from Hell, Purgatory _and_ Heaven.  Every creature in the supernatural world feared him.

Yet, here he was.  Being held down by an average sized man like he was no more fierce than a toddler.  Dean growled in anger and gathered himself up in another try to shake the man off him.  The sudden surge of anger and strength did catch the doctor by surprise, but it did nothing to make him let go.

The nurse was at his side a second later with a syringe in her hand and reaching for Dean’s pinned arm.  He struggled to move away from her, but the doctor had him pinned too well.  The nurse grabbed his arm, completely stopping him from moving it, and quickly pressed the needle into his skin.  Dean barely managed to bite back the yelp of pain at the needle stinging his sore muscles.  The sedative worked quickly to spread through his body, washing over him with a disturbing yet oddly calming coolness.  A few seconds later, when it had worked through most of his system, the doctor let go of him and stood upright.

He smoothed his white coat out, saying something about a MRI and CT scan in an hour or two.  Dean wasn’t really sure, the sedative was working faster to lull him into relaxed numbness.  As the two walked out, Dean turned his head away from the door.  He blinked hard to keep his vision from swimming and was distantly surprised that sleep wasn’t beckoning him.  Not that he wanted to sleep, he needed to stay awake.  A few minutes went by and he couldn’t feel a thing.  Not the soreness in his muscles, the stiffness in his neck, the throbbing pain in head, the light didn’t hurt, his stomach didn’t feel hollow.  Nothing, not a damn thing.  It was honestly the best he’d felt in a long time. 

A few more minutes ticked by and he found himself grinning and laughing softly at the situation.  Angels fell, Heaven was locked, Cas lost his grace, Sam was dying, an angel might kill Cas or leave Sam for dead, or both.  But the sedative, the morphine, clouded his mind too much for him to care.  Anytime he tried to think about those things and remind himself why he needed to get up, he just started giggling. 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed after that, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour because it was Cas who walked into the room before the doctor or nurses coming to collect him for testing. 

“Hey, you’re not dead,” Dean grinned lazily.

“No, I am not dead…” Cas replied slowly, confused.

Cas closed the door with a soft click before coming over to Dean’s side and looking over him.

“’S good, I dunno what I’d do if you died…” Dean sighed.

“Did they—“

“Again,” Dean added, with another giggle.

“They gave you something, didn’t they?” Cas asked.

“Yep.  And I love it,” Dean hummed, “You know why?”

Cas sat down, decided whether or not he was going to play along with him.  Dean watched him with blissed out eyes and waited for Cas to answer, he was perfectly patient.  Cas leaned back with a sigh, he had something important to tell Dean, but clearly it wasn’t going to have any effect on him right now.  He may as well go along with it.

“Why do you love it, Dean?” Cas relented.

“B’cause I don’ feel shit right now,” Dean grinned, looking up at the ceiling and closing his eyes.

“And that’s good?”

“Hell yeah.  ‘S the best I felt all week…all month…probably since before I went to Hell even.”

“I can see why that’d be nice…” Cas mused.

“Hmm…well no, not since b’fore I went to Hell,” Dean thought aloud.

Cas glanced at him, seeing him scowling at the ceiling in thought.

“I think since after you pulled me out…cause that was a damn good feelin’.”

Cas gave a short, soft laugh and turned his gaze to the floor.  Dean heard him and rolled his head to the side to look at him with sincere eyes.

“Nah, I’m serious,” Dean said, “Years of torture, thinkin’ it was never gonna end, tha’ no one cared that I was dead…givin’ up and takin’ Alistair’s deal.  I felt real shitty, y’know?  And then you come along, fuckin’ demons up to save my ass even after I fucked up and broke the first seal.”

“Dean, you didn’t know—“

“No, I know I didn’t know.  But, I mean, why even bother with me then?  The mission failed and the ‘Righteous Man’ fell, so why not just…abort mission and leave me there to rot?  I wasn’t any better than them…”

Cas opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out.  He just kept his eyes on the floor, fidgeting with his hands.  He chanced a look up, caught by Dean’s pleading green eyes.  Part of him had always hoped Dean would ask, but the other part also he wouldn’t because he didn’t know how to answer. 

“Cas?” Dean prompted.

“We were told to abort the mission and, um, ‘leave your ass there’—“

Dean giggled at the former angel using his words, earning a half smile from Cas.

“But…I didn’t think it was right.  You didn’t deserve to be there and I was confident I could purge Hell’s influence from you.”

“So you were jus’ showin’ off?”

“No, no.  I, um…we’d spent years trying to get to you, since the moment the hellhounds dragged you down.  But it felt like, after all that time, it would be a terrible waste of effort and lives to leave you once you fell,” Cas replied.

Dean hummed in response, blinking and looking away again.  Something told Cas that wasn’t exactly the answer Dean had wanted.  He bit his lip, thinking if he should elaborate more or not.  Dean was high on morphine, so why not?

“As I’ve told you before,” Cas continued, “Your soul shone brightly to us...to me, like a beacon.  Even after you fell, that brightness did little more than flicker.  It would have been like leaving a priceless, precious gem to sink into tar and be lost forever.”

Dean turned back to him with curiosity and slight awe, like a child listening to story they love or know they’ll love.

“The closer I got to you, the more brilliant your soul shone and less I could bring myself to turn my back on you.  All the other angels had abandoned me, even my garrison, but I was so close to saving you.  When I got to you, you tried to fight me…” Cas chuckled and smirked at the memory, “You may have been Alistair’s finest, but you were still nothing to an angel.”

Dean scowled at him, attempting to make a bitchface, though it was more of a pout.

“When I grabbed you, my touch chased all the sulfur and ash and blood from you.  With all that gone, your soul was even more brilliant than it had been.  There absolutely no way I could possibly leave you down there.  I gripped you so tight, keeping you close and not willing to ever let go, that I started to burn you.”

“Yeah, thanks f’r that,” Dean slurred.

“It was not intentional,” Cas assured, “But when I announced that I had saved you, the other angels started chattering.  Thinking I was showing off or something, and they somehow came to the conclusion that my accidental branding of you was some kind of claim.”

“…Was it?”

“Hm?”

“Was it a claim or whatever?” Dean asked.

“No, you did belong to Michael—“

Cas didn’t miss the hurt glint in Dean’s eyes.

“—But I made no effort to repair the mark.  I didn’t think any angel deserved to touch a soul like yours and if they thought the mark was a claim, then so be it.  It helped to keep their hands away from you,” Cas explained, “And…to be honest…I found the idea of something so precious belonging to me to be quite appealing.”

Cas looked up at Dean again, waiting for his reaction.  If Dean weren’t high on morphine, he’d probably say something along the lines of ‘no chick-flick moments’ or ‘I don’t swing that way’.  But he was high on morphine, which is why Dean ended up staring off into the distance for a few minutes before he seemed to remember that there was a conversation going on.  He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again to think about what it was he wanted to say. 

“That was…that was, um…” Dean fumbled with his words, “That’s probably the nicest thing I’ve heard.  ‘S weird, but, I, uh…yeah, I like that.”

Cas smiled softly, relaxing at Dean’s reaction being better than he thought it would be.  His smile did falter a bit when he wondered if Dean would remember this when he came back down.  Cas didn’t know much about morphine, but he had heard that if given enough, people didn’t remember anything during their time under its influence.  But they also spoke what was on their mind, they didn’t lie.  So, he counted this as something good and just settled for hoping Dean would be one of those people who remembered.  What he’d do if he did, well, they’d cross that bridge when they got to it.

Cas did still need to tell Dean what he’d found out.  It was something Dean needed to know, and would probably flip out for Cas not telling him sooner, but he couldn’t bring himself to sour the mood brought on by the sedative and Cas’ admission. 

The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a while as Cas waited for the morphine to wear off.  When he could see the tension and pain begin to work their way back onto Dean’s face, he knew it was losing its influence.  Cas shifted in his chair, leaning forward to get Dean’s attention.

“Dean, I need to ask you something,” Cas started.

“Hm?” Dean grumbled.

“You said it was Ez—“

“Alright, Mr. Campbell, time for your MRI scan,” a nurse interrupted.

Cas gaped at the timing of the interruption as the nurse was followed by another to help escort him to the MRI room.  He looked back at Dean, who seemed a little agitated by the interruption as well.  He propped himself up on his elbows, giving the nurses a tired glare.

“I won’t hesitate to sedate you again if you object to this,” the nurse warned.

Dean grimaced.

“I won’t,” Dean submitted, “But…he comes with.”

Dean nodded to Cas; the nurse glanced between the two of them.

“Fine, but he can’t be in the room with the machine.  He can stay on the side of glass with the MRI operator,” the nurse relented.

It wasn’t what Dean had wanted, but it was the best he was going to get.  He knew only patients and staff could be in the room, there had to be the fewest number of bodies in there.  When the nurses suggested just rolling the bed to the MRI, Dean objected.  When they suggested a wheel chair, he objected.  Despite the nurses’ annoyance, Cas found it slightly amusing, which earned him a glare from one of them.  They settled on allowing Dean to walk, though Cas heard one of the nurses murmur to other to keep a wheel chair close by; they weren’t going to try to carry him.

As they walked down the halls to the MRI room, Dean swayed a few times but Cas was quick to catch him and right him before the nurse could order him to sit in the wheel chair.  Dean moved a little closer to Cas, nudging him and silently telling him to finish what he’d started to say before the interruption.

“You said it was Ezekiel who was healing Sam, right?” Cas asked quietly.

“Yeah, why?” Dean answered, suspicion easing into his voice.

“While I was looking for Sam, I ran into another man, a mortician,” Cas said, “He’s another one of the angels—“

“Great…”

“No, listen.  He continued to pose as the mortician to find who all survived the fall and if anything was happening to those that did.”

“And?”

“And it seems there’s a fight breaking out among the fallen.  He’s seen a number of vessels killed by other angels.”

 “So, what?  There’s an angel gang-fight goin’ on?” Dean murmured, “Exactly what we need right now.”

“More to the point, he’s been trying to keep tabs of which angels have died.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas.

“Ezekiel was one of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand there's more Destiel than guilt and worry again. but it's coming, brace yourselves because the fun stops here.


	12. Seize

“Well then, who is it?” Dean snapped.

“I don’t know and neither does the mortician,” Cas admitted, “I only know that it isn’t Ezekiel.  But whoever they are, I would suspect malintent if they lied about who they are.”

“That’s great.  That’s just _fucking_ gre—“

“Mr. Campbell, please,” the nurse interrupted, “I’d prefer it if you at least kept walking.”

Dean clenched his jaw, swallowing down whatever short-tempered remark he might’ve made.  Begrudgingly, he resumed following the nurse.  They walked a several more yards down the corridor, taking a turn down another corridor, all the while Cas kept casting concerned looks at Dean.  He could see him trying to stay calm and almost looking like he was considering to turn and run to find Sam.  For once, though, logic won.

“Gimme your phone,” Dean growled.

Cas didn’t even question it.  He felt through his pockets until he found the small object and handed it to Dean.  He immediately flipped it open and began rapidly typing out a message.

_ 7:32pm _

_‘Kevin, I need you to find me a spell or a sigil or fucking anything that can suppress an angel in a vessel.’_

Dean kept his eyes fixed on the small screen, hardly giving any attention to where he was going or the fact he was starting to sway again.  As before, Cas corrected his posture and steered him away from nearly walking into a gurney stopped along the side of the hall.  He even went so far as to lock his arm with Dean’s just to make it easier.  At that, Dean glanced up with an accusatory glare and probably some comment about how ‘dudes don’t’ do that’, but it was cut off by the phone vibrating in his hands.

_ 7:34pm _

_‘What’re you talking about, Cas?’_

Dean rolled his eyes with a sigh.

_ 7:34pm _

_‘This is Dean.’_

_ 7:35pm _

_‘Dean?  Are you okay?  What did the doctors say?’_

He grumbled in annoyance.

_ 7:35pm _

_‘I’m fine.  They didn’t say anything.  Now, for Christ’s sake, focus.’_

_ 7:36pm _

_‘Alright, jeez.  What do you mean to suppress an angel?’_

_ 7:37pm _

_‘Like theoretically someone is possessed by an angel, but I want to talk to the vessel without the angel dropping in.  I need you to find anything that can do that.’_

_ 7:38pm _

_‘What do you need it for?’_

Dean gawked at the phone.  After everything that Kevin had gone through with them, this is what he questions?

_ 7:40pm _

_‘Would you just trust me and find the damn spell or sigil or whatever.’_

_ 7:41pm _

_‘Fine, when do you need it?’_

_ 7:41pm _

_‘I need it yesterday!’_

The phone vibrated again with Kevin’s reply, but Dean didn’t get the chance to read it as Cas jerked him to a stop.  He glanced up and looked around; they were standing outside the MRI room and the nurse glared at him pointedly.  Cas leaned in closer to say something.

“She’s been trying to talk to you,” he murmured.

“What?” Dean barked, more harshly than he meant to.

“Firstly, you can’t have a cell phone in the MRI room,” the nurse snipped back.

Dean tensed slightly, handing the phone back to Cas without taking his eyes away from the nurse.

“Secondly, I asked if you had any tattoos,” she continued, “Sometimes they can become distorted and cause injury.”

Dean gave her a slightly puzzled look.  He was in hospital patient scrubs; someone, probably Sam, must’ve mad an argument against a hospital gown and for that, Dean was thankful.  But it still meant someone had to have changed him out of his regular clothes and seen his tattoo.  Obviously, it wasn’t this nurse.

“I’ve got one,” Dean replied.

“Can you describe it?” the nurse prompted, “Or else show me?”

Showing her was probably easier than describing it, Dean suddenly felt like being difficult with her.  After a few back and forths, all she got was that it was on his chest, about the size of a baseball, and heavy black ink.  She was, once again, a little irritated with him, but that seemed to be enough information for her.  She also said that Cas was not permitted in the room with the MRI machine, as was standard protocol.  When Cas went to remove his arm from Dean’s, he found it caught; Dean wasn’t letting him go.

“Dean—“

“Mr. Campbell, for the love of God, please,” the nurse sighed, “…Alright, there’s a viewing room for doctors your…’partner’ can wait in.”

Cas caught the quick flash of indignation on Dean’s face at her implication, along with the faint blush that came with it, but he didn’t try to correct her.

“Alright, fine,” Dean agreed, reluctantly letting go of Cas’ arm.

As he did, Cas could swear he felt a tremor run down Dean’s arm.  But before he could ask if Dean was alright, the nurse was already telling Dean to go in and lay down on the table, then promptly escorting Cas to the viewing room.  Cas glanced back over his shoulder, catching the sight of Dean nearly tripping over his feet as he went through the doors.  Cas turned his gaze to floor, tensing his jaw and fighting down the feeling of unease in his stomach.

The table of the MRI was low to the ground, which caused another wave of dizziness in Dean as he came down on it a little too quickly.  Luckily, the doctor walking in to operate the machine either didn’t notice or took it as Dean simply flopping down on it.  The machine’s operator explained the whole procedure to Dean, who wasn’t really listening and just replying with ‘mm-hmm’ and ‘yeah okay’.  He had his eyes closed and was too busy trying to get the room to stop spinning around him. 

“You nervous?” the operator asked lightly.

“What?  No, ‘m fine,” Dean lied.

The vertigo sensation was made worse when the table lifted and slide forward into the large machine.  When it came to halt, Dean opened his eyes, he was faced with pristine white all around him.  He turned his head, looking around for anything that wasn’t perfectly smooth and white, which only served to aggravate his vertigo.

“Sir, you need to hold still,” the operator said.

“Uh, yeah, s-sorry,” Dean mumbled.

Dean licked his lips, letting out a shaky breath.  The machine began to hum and whir, though Dean couldn’t tell if it was actually spinning around him or not.  The perfectly monotonous surface made it hard to tell.  It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before another tremor rolled down his body, spiking his dizziness and headache.  He moved his hand to rub his eyes in attempt to ease the headache, but bumped it against the machine’s surface and the same time the operator reminded him he need to hold still.  He gave a single nod, not remembering the operator couldn’t see it, and settled himself down, breathing deeply. 

A few more minutes went by and then another tremor, the same as before, but this time leaving the feeling of pins and needles in his body.  Dean made a face of agitation, wanting to move and shake the feeling, but willed himself to keep still.  His vertigo settled from feeling like random movements to a feeling of just constant spinning; it must be the machine moving around him, he decided.  The next tremor left him with a high pitched ringing in his ears and his whole body felt prickly.  It was when he found his right fingers involuntarily twitching he started to panic.  The operator made some remark about holding still again, then asked if he was alright, but Dean couldn’t get any words out.  His deep breathing became erratic and shallow as twitching spread up his arm, across his chest and down the other arm.  

The table was then retracted from the machine, both the operator and another nurse, not the one that had escorted him, were suddenly on either side of him.  They were trying to talk to him, he could see that, but he couldn’t respond to him.  The table was lowered, again the motion aggravating the vertigo, as another tremor rolled through him.  Both the operator and the nurse continued to try speak to him, rolling him onto his side.  Dean automatically, and quickly, curled in on himself as he felt his entire body now twitching and shaking uncontrollably.  He clawed at the side of the table, desperate to grab and hold onto anything that could help him feel like he had some control. 

The operator said something to the nurse and she disappeared, but her place was immediately taken by Cas.  He didn’t say anything other than Dean’s name and carded his fingers through his hair as he buried his face in his arm.  Cas moved aside when the nurse came back with a needle, but stayed close to Dean. 

“What is that?” Cas asked.

“Midazolam.”

The nurse didn’t even bother with Dean’s clothes as she stabbed the needle straight through into his thigh.  He gave a short yelp of pain and curled in on himself more, keeping a white knuckled grip on the table edge.  Within seconds, his shaking and twitching slowed to minor aftershocks.  A full minute later, he was completely still and relaxed, breathing slow and shallow.  Cas pried Dean’s hand off the table edge and held it to get Dean’s attention.  Dean could see the worry on Cas’ face deepen as darkness slowly encroached on his vision.  Cas patted him on the side of his face to keep him alert enough to stay conscious, before a nurse shooed him away from the table all together.  Dean blinked hard, trying to push the darkness away while distantly thinking how their roles had so quickly ended up backwards.  Cas fretting over Dean?  _No, that’s not how it works…_

 

xXxXx

 

The first thing he noticed was the table was much softer now; he was back in the hospital bed.  The second thing he noticed was the feeling of something small and smooth tracing along his face.  It took him a minute to figure that one, as he wasn’t fully awake yet and kept his eyes closed, but he eventually figured it to be oxygen tubing.  He was on oxygen now, which meant that things weren’t getting better.  In fact, it probably meant they were getting worse.  It certainly felt like that. 

Dean slowly raised his hand, feeling as heavy as lead, to his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes again before blinking them open.  He felt disoriented by the bright lights, blurred colors and constant shifting of the room and unconsciousness nearly took him again.

“Dean?  Are you awake?”

He shook his head slightly and took a deep breath to stave off the pull of unconsciousness.

“Dean?”

He blinked hard once more before looking around to see Cas watching him with concerned eyes.

“Cas…?” Dean groaned, “Wha…what happened?”

“You had a…’minor’ seizure in the MRI,” Cas replied softly.

“Huh?”

“The machine’s operator and nurse tried to calm you to stop it, but it didn’t work.  The nurse injected you with some...anti-seizure medication, I forget the name,” Cas admitted, “But you passed out shortly after.”

Dean settled back into the bed, trying to remember that but he didn’t remember anything beyond going inside the machine.  After a minute of silence, with Cas watching him closely, a thought came to him.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked.

“He’s just outside the room,” Cas answered, “He’s speaking with the doctor about what happened.”

Another short silence.

“The MRI operator was unable to finish the scan,” Cas started, “But it seems they still managed to find something useful, from what I overheard, but they wouldn’t tell me.  Doctor-patience privacy or blood relatives only or something, I don’t understand.”

Dean didn’t even make an attempt at a halfhearted laugh.  He barely hummed in acknowledgment.  Cas opened his mouth to say something more, but no words came to mind.  Instead, he just shifted in his seat and glanced at the door, then the floor, then back at Dean to make sure he was still awake.  He was, but he seemed to be staring at something in the room that Cas couldn’t see.

“…Is he there?” Cas asked.

“…Who?”

Dean didn’t move his gaze from whatever he was staring at.

“Death,” Cas said.

“What?  No, no…’m not dyin’,” Dean sighed, “I was jus’ thinkin’.”

“About what?” Cas prompted.

“Nothin’ important,” Dean shrugged.

“Dean.”

“’s nothin’.  Don’t worry about it,” Dean mumbled.

Cas glared at him softly, but didn’t press the issue.  He didn’t want to chance riling Dean up and possibly having him pass out again.  So, he let Dean’s stubbornness win this one time and left Dean to his thoughts.  His thoughts about everything that had happened in the past couple months, some from even before then.  But there was one that kept circling around in his mind; just how badly he might’ve fucked up with Sam.  There was no other way of putting it.  He’d done stupid things before, lied to people he cared about, made deals he shouldn’t have, agreed to things he never thought he would have.  But his, tricking his little brother into hosting an angel?  This really took first place.

And on top of that, he’d trusted the angel to be who he said he was.  None of the angels they’d met had ever lied about who they were, except for Gabriel, but that was more about _what_ he was than _who_ he was.  Dean shifted and thought about what else this angel might’ve lied about.  No doubt he was healing himself, but now Dean wasn’t sure if he was healing Sam.  The angel could bring someone back to life in a heartbeat, clearly he had the power, yet Sam would still die if he left?  He was probably keeping Sam weak on purpose to keep him as a vessel, but there had to be some sort of inadvertent healing going on.

“Did Kevin get back with a spell or anything?” Dean asked suddenly.

“Uh, no.  He hasn’t…”

“Hm...”

“If…When he does, what are you going to tell Sam that you don’t want the angel to hear?” Cas asked.

“I dunno yet,” Dean admitted.

Cas nodded and let out a breath as another silence settled between them.  He shifted again, leaning back in the chair and slightly rubbing his back against the chair.

“’s hurt?”

“What?”

“Your, um…y’know…”

“My wings?”

Dean nodded.

“Metatron took my grace…I have nothing left, not even stripped remains like those that fell…” Cas muttered.

“’m sorry.”

Cas tilted his head at Dean.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“No, I…I shoulda, I dunno, questioned it more…” Dean thought aloud, “I mean, God’s scribe hides out here on Earth for thousands of years with his head in the sand.  No one knows he’s here.  And we talk to him for, what, like five minutes?  And he’s all for helping fix Heaven?”

Cas lowered his head.

“Where was he when everything was goin’ to shit a couple years ago up there?  Why didn’t he help then?” Dean continued.

“In hindsight, these would have been very useful precautionary thoughts,” Cas mused, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of them.”

“You just wanted to fix everything.  Y’know, Samandriel, that Alfie kid, he said he thought too much heart was your problem,” Dean glanced over at him.

“Perhaps,” Cas sighed.

“But I should’ve known better.”

“Dean, please—“

The door to the room swung open as the doctor walked in.  The man motioned for Cas to step outside for just a minute and wait with Sam, more of that doctor-patient confidentiality he didn’t understand.  Cas didn’t argue, though Dean wished he would’ve at least objected, and closed the door behind himself.  When he did, the doctor took the seat Cas had been sitting in.

“As I’m sure you know,” the doctor cleared his throat, “Your MRI was incomplete.”

“Yeah.”

“The imaging went only from your head to your chest before it was interrupted,” the doctor clarified, “But, it appears we may have found the problem.  Or, at least, part of it.”

Dean gave him a sideways look.

“There’s a considerable amount of swelling in your brain,” the doctor stated.

Dean narrowed his eyes.

“That, along with what your brother has described, we have a few ideas as to what’s wrong.  But to be sure, I need you to tell me, honestly, when you first started ill at all.  Even if you think something’s insignificant and shouldn’t count.”

Dean rolled his head to one side, thinking back.  Two bouts of unconsciousness and poor sleeping habits over the past week or so messed with his concept of the days.

“I think…maybe 9 days ago?”

That sounded about right to him.  The doctor nodded, but stared at the ground in confusion.  Dean waited for a response from the man, beginning to get impatient when he started taking too long.  Just before Dean snapped at him, he looked up.

“We had theorized that it could be encephalitis, meningitis, or even meningoencephalitis.  But…”

“But what?” Dean prompted.

“Anyone of those three would have you dead within a week at their slowest.”

“So…what’s that mean?”

“We’re not sure.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts, comments, feels?


	13. Listen to Me

“What’d you mean you’re not sure?” Dean snapped.

“We were certain until the time frame became an issue—“

“I don’t care about the time line,” Dean interrupted, “People outlive that crap all the time.”

“While that is true in a number of cases, these three diseases, no one outlives them.”

“Well, why don’t you just treat me like it is one of those things?”

“Because treating you for something you don’t have could potentially worsen whatever is it you do have.”

“Then fuckin’ figure it out,” Dean growled.

The doctor clenched his jaw; he knew patients had a tendency to get angry if they didn’t receive a diagnosis quickly.  Rather than bothering with trying to calm Dean down, he simply nodded once and left the room in a few quick strides.  Dean glared harshly at the door, letting out a ragged breath once it closed and gasped for his next breath.  Even though he was now on oxygen, he still felt like he wasn’t getting enough air.  In less than a minute, and before Dean had managed to catch his breath, the door opened again.  He tensed up, expecting some nurse to come in, but relaxed at seeing Sam and Cas.  He watched his brother closely, ignoring the questioning look that fleeted across his face.  Yeah, that was Sam and not whatever angel was possessing him.

Cas was quick to reclaim his seat, which, conveniently, was also the one closet to Dean.  Sam rolled his eyes with a soundless sigh and took the one beside Cas.

“So what’d the doctor say?” Sam asked.

“That they don’t fuckin’ know,” Dean grumbled, turning to glare out of the window.

“Really?”

Dean didn’t need to look at his brother to know he was giving him a bitchface.

“They don’t know anything at all?” Sam added.

“Said they had an idea but the timing didn’t match or whatever…”

“Well, maybe it’s a curse that acts like a sickness?” Sam suggested.

Dean barely shrugged one shoulder.

“I mean, I know we can’t exactly tell them that, but maybe if we figured out the cause, they could help,” Sam offered.

“It does appear to be a manageable biological ailment,” Cas said, “At least, for the moment.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean deadpanned.

Sam shot Cas a dirty look, silently telling him not to say stuff like that.  Cas turned his gaze to the floor apologetically, then up at Dean, who was still looking out of the window.  His glare had softened to a half-lidded thousand yard stare, signaling he’d mentally checked out.  Sam’s heart skipped a beat and he quickly stood just enough to be able to reach over and lightly smack at Dean’s cheek.

“Hey, hey!  The hell was that for?” Dean snapped.

“Just makin’ sure you’re still here,” Sam grumbled.

“I’m—“

“I swear to God, if you say you’re fine _one more time_ , I’m gonna punch you,” Sam warned.

“You’d punch a sick guy in the hospital?” Dean challenged.

There was no playfulness in Dean’s tone.  He was challenging Sam to do, almost like he wanted him to because deep down, that was how he felt at the moment.  He thought that being sick wasn’t enough of a punishment for what he’d done to Sam.  Sam picked up on the tone, though not knowing where it was coming from, and sat back down, flexing his jaw to keep himself from arguing.  Dean snorted lightly, in that ‘I knew it’ kind of way.  Cas glanced between the two of them, shifting and clearing his throat.

“If this sickness is actually a curse, perhaps we should go back to the bunker to look for an obje—“

“No,” Dean interrupted.

“Why not?” Cas tilted his head.

“Because if it is, I don’t want either of you gettin’ mixed up with it,” Dean replied.

That was true, but it was only half the reason.  The other half of the reason was that it meant only Cas and Sam would go back to the bunker; Dean would be stuck there.  Alone.  While an angel with a grudge against Cas was in the bunker with him and there was no one but a prophet there to protect him.  And ‘protect’ would be pushing it with Kevin.  He probably wouldn’t be able to do much, especially since he wouldn’t know to keep an eye out for an angel _in_ the bunker.

“Dean—“ Cas started.

“If these guys can’t hurry it up and figure it out, Sam can just find another faith healer,” Dean said.

“Dean, the only reason that guy’s healing worked is because his wife was controlling a reaper,” Sam sighed, “You think I’m gonna find another guy in that situation?  Plus, you remember how guilty you felt when you found out someone had to die of _your_ heart problem for you to live?”

Dean glanced down; he’d forgotten about that.  It was a life for life situation, but at least that other guy who’d died for him had gone quick and hopefully painless.  What was ailing him now, and the fact that he knew that’s how it worked, he couldn’t dump this on someone else.  That bit of guilt would be the last straw.  But he didn’t say anything.

“Look, it won’t take us long,” Sam said, “Whatever made you sick, it had to be something you got into the night Cas left because you were perfectly fine before that.”

He might not remember a whole lot of that night, he did drink a lot, but he was fairly certain he hadn’t gotten into anything cursed.  But still, the thought of that possibility nagged at his mind.

“If you guys leave, I’m goin’ with you,” Dean declared.

Sure, he wasn’t in the best condition, far from it in fact.  But he hoped his presence would be enough to deter the angel from doing anything.  And that maybe the angel would still hold up on his promise to heal him, then they wouldn’t have to deal with the whole ‘it’s a miracle’ situation.  Cas would just have to stay behind somewhere.  Another moment’s thought and Dean decided that probably wouldn’t happen.

“Dean, you have to stay here,” Cas said.

“Why?” Dean bit.

“Because these machines are the only things keeping you alive.”

“I was supposed to be dead two days ago according to Doc Useless,” Dean growled, “So clearly it ain’t the machines.”

“Dean, that’s all the more reason you have to stay here,” Sam sighed, “If you leave here and seize up again or pass out again, you…”

Sam licked his lips and dropped his eyes to the floor.  _You might not wake up again._   Dean stared at him, feeling a fresh wave of guilt.  Dying in front of his brother, he couldn’t put that on Sam, not again.  The guilt subsided slightly to anger at the doctor’s for not having an answer and cure.  Sam was trying to help, in whatever little way he could, and if he thought he could do that by finding the cause of Dean’s illness…  Well, Dean didn’t want Sam feeling like shit, so if doing that made him feel better, then by all means.

“Fine,” Dean murmured.

Both Sam and Cas looked up.

“If you think it’ll fix anything…just don’t touch anything that looks weird.”

“Course not,” Sam replied with a dry laugh.

Sam fidgeted for a second before deciding to leave for the bunker.  Dean wished he’d stay just a minute longer, but said nothing to stop him.  Sam paused at the door, turning back to look at Cas.

“Are you staying here?” Sam asked.

“Ah…yes, I— I think one of us should be here,” Cas answered, “In case something happens.”

Worry flashed across Sam’s face, but he nodded in understanding and left with a promise of being back in a few hours.  Once the door closed, Dean spoke up.

“Why’re you staying?” Dean asked.

He really didn’t care what the answer was, he was glad Cas chose to stay, but he still felt compelled to ask it.

“Partially because I’m now wary of the angel within Sam just as you are,” Cas replied, “But more so because I am concerned for you.”

“Don’t be, I’ll be f—“

“I’m not above following through on Sam’s warning.”

Dean gave a half grin and a quiet short laugh.

“Yeah, I know you aren’t.  I’ll never forget how you beat me unconscious when I was ready to give up,” Dean mused.

“That may have been a little excessive of me, I apologize for that.”

“Hey, it worked, so nothin’ to be sorry for.”

Silence settled between the two of them.  It wasn’t tense or uncomfortable, but Cas still wanted to say something.  After a few minutes, he looked up at Dean and saw strain and pain all across this face.  He could see the muscles in Dean’s arm quivering as he strained to keep still and fight down another seizure.  Cas gaped a few times before getting to his feet and hovering over Dean, unsure of what to do exactly.

“Do you want me to— Should I call a nurse?” Cas panicked.

“No,” Dean ground out through gritted teeth, “I— I got this.”

Dean threw his head back with a groan of pain as he cradled his trembling arm, attempting to restrain it in hopes of stilling it.  However, that only seemed to worsen it.  His arm was shaking badly in his hold and the trembling spread down his body to his leg this time.  Cas then immediately decided he didn’t care what Dean thought and hit the ‘call nurse’ button just above the bed to the side.  Within seconds, a nurse was in the room and understood the situation.  She told Cas to just keep talk to Dean and try to get him to relax while she went to fetch something.  The nurse reappeared a minute later with a syringe like the one containing the anti-seizure from the last time.

“When did it start?” the nurse asked.

“A-about two or three minutes ago,” Cas answered.

She nodded once, knowing she couldn’t use the syringe just yet; it was only for seizures lasting over five minutes.  Both of them took to trying to calm Dean in hopes of stopping it, or at least lessening it.  When two more minutes passed with no sign of stopping, the nurse uncapped the syringe and stabbed it into Dean’s thigh again.  He swore loudly, recoiling from the sting, but was still again within the minute.  He relaxed, breathing deep, quick breathes through his nose, but pain was still evident on his face.  It wasn’t just the seizure that caused pain this time, other things were acting up again and Cas worried Dean would pass out again.

Thankfully, the nurse also noticed this and left, returning with another syringe; this one being of morphine.  She gently injected the small dose into Dean’s arm and waited a moment for the pain-killer to take effect.  When it did, she told Cas to call again if anything at all happened, then excused herself from the room.

“Why’d you do that?” Dean shot.

“Seizures are not something that can easily be stopped by yourself,” Cas said, “Especially when you are doing it wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Yes, the doctor told me after the first one, in case it happened again, that you are not to be restrained.  You tried to restrain yourself and that can make it worse.”

Dean huffed and rolled his eyes.  There were still traces of pain on his face, but they were quickly easing away as the morphine continued to spread through his system.  Unlike the silence before, the one that followed was tense and unsettling.  Cas wanted to leave the room, disappear like he used to, but he was too afraid to leave Dean.  Knowing the hunter wouldn’t call for help kept him seated right there.  The nurse hadn’t given Dean enough morphine to make him high like last time, when it was used to sedate him, which meant the tension was going nowhere.  Just when Cas started thinking it was getting to be unbearable, his phone chirped with a message, effectively shattering the silence.

“It’s from Kevin,” Cas announced.

Dean grunted in response, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“He says he’d found a sigil to suppress angels in their vessels,” Cas continued, “He’s sending a picture of it with instructions in just a moment.”

“Finally,” Dean muttered.

Cas stared at his phone, waiting for the image to be sent.  A few minutes passed by and still nothing arrived.  Before things had a chance to get uncomfortable again, both of them heard the muffled ringing of Dean’s phone.  Dean perked up and looked around, finding a pile of his clothes in the corner of the room; a faint glow emanating from a shirt pocket.  When he made a move to get up, Cas stopped him by pushing his shoulder back now.  Dean didn’t even try to hide his annoyance and indignity at Cas as he crossed the room and grabbed the cell phone.  Rather than answer it, or even look at the caller ID, he handed the phone to Dean.

“’ey Sammy, d’ya find something?” Dean asked.

“Sort of.  Some of the boxes of ammo in the storage room that you got into had some markings on them—“

“Tell me you didn’t touch them,” Dean interrupted.

“Not like curse marks, Dean.  So yeah, I did touch them.  They were just hand written notes and symbols for something, but they got either faded out ripped by someone tearing into the boxes.”

Dean didn’t miss the accusatory tone, but he didn’t acknowledge it either.  He just shifted and kicked the blankets down; he was getting too warm again.

“I looked through some of their weapons inventory and it turns out the bullets in those boxes are modified for special effects,” Sam continued with a sigh.

“What, like incendiaries?”

“Uh, no.  More like poisons.  But the thing was they were loaded with viruses and bacteria and things like that, but since those things could die without a host, they mixed them up with a preservative.”

“So?  I didn’t shoot myself,” Dean snapped.

“No, but um…Dean, in one of the boxes…one of the shot gun shells had opened up and spilled on the others…The ones you picked up to load.  And, because the labeling’s ripped up, I don’t know what those one contained.  But the doctors were right, of all these bullets, the one with the slowest virus should kill in a week.  The only thing I can think of is that the preservative it was mixed with lowered its potency.”

“So what d’you want me to tell ‘em?  I got some unknown modified virus?” Dean asked.

“Well, no, obviously.  But see if they’ll treat you for whatever they thought it might be,” Sam suggested.

“I doubt it,” Dean grumbled.

“Just try it, alright?  I’m gonna see if I can figure what the bullets you used had in them.”

“Fine…”

Dean hung the phone up with a sigh, tossed it onto the table beside the bed and ran his hands down his face.  With the morphine in his system, taking away the edge of pain and slightly muddling his thoughts, he thought the rising heat was the temperature of the room; not his fever spiking.  He looked over at to see if he was feeling as hot as he was, only to be irritated at the fact that no, Castiel wasn’t uncomfortably warm.

“I still haven’t received an image of the sigil from Kevin,” Cas stated.

Dean groaned, sitting up and leaning forward to try and get away from the warmth of the bed.  He reached over and fumbled for his phone, mentally cursing at it, then dialed Kevin’s number.  At the second ring, Dean began to get a little worried.  At three rings, he was paranoid.  The fourth was interrupted by Kevin’s answer and put Dean’s mind at ease.

“What’s up with the picture sending?” Dean deadpanned.

“I dunno, it’s just saying ‘message pending’ every time I try to send it,” Kevin said, “Maybe there’s not enough reception in this part of the bunker.”

“Walk around or somethin’ then,” Dean grumbled.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Kevin shot back, “I’m gonna see if Sam knows if there’s a better spot, hang on.”

Dean rolled his eyes, he didn’t understand while he had to wait, but he didn’t find himself hanging up either.  He could hear Kevin walking around and what was probably him muttering complaints to himself.  A minute later, he found Sam and Dean could just barely hear their conversation.

_“Hey, Sam, is there a spot with better service?”_

_“Uh, should all be fine.  Why?”_

_“This picture’s not sending.”_

_“Who’re you sending pictures to?”_

_“Dean.”_

_“What’s it a picture of?  Is it a big file?”_

_“No, it shouldn’t be.  It’s just a sigil.”_

Dean felt his body go numb, despite the fever, and start trembling again.

“Kevin?” Dean questioned, “Kevin!  Hey!”

“Just one sec, Dean,” Kevin said.

_“What’s he need a sigil for?  Does he think it’s gonna heal him or something?”_

“Kevin?  Hey, Kevin!  Don’t!” Dean barked, “Just tell him yes!”

_“No, he said he needs it to suppress an angel in a vessel.”_

“Jesus Christ, Kevin!”

_“Suppress an angel?”_

Dean could hear the calmness that had overtaken Sam’s voice; the Ezekiel imposter had taken over.

_“Hey…are you okay, Sam…?”_

“Kevin!  Hey!  Listen to me, leave the bunker now!”

_“Uh, Sam?”_

“Kevin!  Leave!” Dean begged.

_“Sa—“_

Kevin’s voice was cut off by a piercing ringing accompanied by the sound of screaming and what could only be the sound of burning flesh.  Dean heard a heavy weight hit the floor as the phone clattered down along with it just because the line went dead.  Dean stared wide eyed straight ahead, letting his own phone slip from his hand and bounce off the bed to the floor.  A heartbeat later, Cas’ phone rang with a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so with that, i'm really excited to write the next chapter (i think there'll only be like 4 more?) and if i'm excited to add to this that means you all are gonna get sucker-punched in the feels. fair warning.


	14. Fever Pitch 2

“Dean?” Cas prompted.

He a tremor run through Dean’s body before the hunter was spurred to action.  Dean immediately grabbed for the monitor’s wires and started ripping them off frantically.  Cas flinched in surprised before jumping up to grab Dean’s hands and stop him.

“Dean, stop that,” Cas barked, “What are you doing?”

“We have to go,” Dean said breathlessly, “We have to go, Kevin…He…”

“What?  What did Kevin say?”

Dean didn’t answer, he only tried to wrench his hands free and continue detaching the wires.  Cas fumbled with him for a minute before regaining hold of his hands and a couple nurses, expectedly, ran in.  The few monitors Dean had managed to remove from himself in the course of thirty seconds happened to be the heart and blood pressure monitors.  One nurse shooed Cas to the side, taking over holding Dean down, which honestly didn’t take much effort at this point.  The other nurse moved around the first, picking up the loose wires and giving Dean a dirty warning look.  Dean shifted under the nurse’s hold but it was hardly more effective than a small child struggling against a parent.  He tensed his jaw, breathing deep and even, trying to glare as angrily as he could at the nurse.

The other nurse pushed down on his chest, making him lay down, as she reattached and reset the monitors.  Once she’d done that, she gave Dean a warning look before walking out and leaving the other nurse.

“This is the second time you’ve done this, Mr. Campbell,” he chided.

“I need to leave,” Dean murmured quickly.

“And I think you said something like that last time,” the nurse sighed, “We understand you have something you have to do, but do you really think you can do whatever it is if you don’t take it easy and let us do our job?”

Cas saw the anger and irritation flit across Dean’s face.

“I’d be outta here already if you did your job,” Dean shot.

The nurse swallowed down whatever retort he had, reminding himself that he’d had this argument dozens of times and it always went nowhere.  Instead of saying anything, he gave a single, stiff nod and turned to walk out of the room.  Cas turned his attention from the retreating nurse back to Dean, sitting there rubbing his fists against his eyes with faint traces of pain and regret on his face.

“Dean, what’s wrong with Kevin?” Cas asked.

Dean dropped his hands to his lap, letting out a ragged breath.  Cas didn’t prompt him, sensing that something bad must’ve happened.  Dean took a deep breath and Cas was ready for some kind of speech or reason he needed to find a way out.  What he wasn’t ready for was his actual response.

“He’s gone,” Dean mumbled.

Cas knitted his brows together, tilting his head in confusion.

“Gone?” Cas repeated, “You mean—“

“Dead,” Dean bit quietly.

“Are you sure?” Cas asked quickly.

Dean nodded slowly.

“But how?  The bunker is protected against all creatures, the only ones there are Crowley chained up in your ‘dungeon’ and Sa—“ Cas stopped.

Cas stared at Dean in disbelief.  Dean just barely declined his head, blinking back tears that started to prick at his eyes, in affirmation of what Cas thinking.

“But…an angel would never harm a prophet…” Cas murmured, “They’re supposed to protect them!”

Dean didn’t reply, he just laid there, staring up at the ceiling.  Kevin was dead.  Kevin was dead because he’d accidentally told Sam, or whoever the angel was, that he was trying to give Dean an angel suppressing sigil.  The angel, obviously not being an idiot, had picked up on what it was for.  If Dean hadn’t asked Kevin to find it, he would have never said anything to the angel.  The angel wouldn’t have killed him.

“’S my fault,” Dean muttered.

“What?  No, Dean, this is not your fault,” Cas reassured quickly, “You did not kill Kevin, the angel did.”

“Yeah, well…may as well have been me.  I got the damn thing in Sam,” Dean breathed.

He let his eyes fall closed; everything was starting to get to bright again.  He could even feel his temperature rising this time, accompanied by a renewed, piercing headache and deep set soreness in his muscles.  But Dean, being Dean, said nothing.  It was uncomfortable, bordering on outright painful and felt worse than before, but he was sure with how quickly it was coming on that it would ebb away just as fast.  He shifted in attempt to cool off a bit, but his movements served only to sharply prick at any muscle that moved.

“Are you alright?” Cas asked.

He thought about brushing it off and saying he was fine, but he couldn’t even kid himself at this point.  That didn’t mean he had to admit it just yet though.

“Jus’ hot…” Dean mumbled.

Cas stood and moved around the bed to the window, checking to see if it had any kind of restraint other than a simple lock; it didn’t.  Cas unlocked the window and slid it up, frowning when it stopped only about a quarter of the way.  He let the window slide back down a bit before forcing it up harder, only to have it catch again.  Cas scowled, leaning in to look at the frame and finding stoppers in it.

“It won’t open all the way, but I suppose it’s better than nothing,” Cas sighed, turning to face Dean, “Maybe some ice woul—“

Cas was cut short by the shrill, alarming beeping of the machines, making him flinch and fall back against the window sill.  Cas’ eyes darted franticly from monitor to monitor, flashing numbers he didn’t know the meaning of.  The only one he could understand was the one, in bright red number, _105.9°._ Some part of his brain remembered reading something that stated death occurred at 107.6°.  Cas felt like he’d had the air punched out of him as nurses and doctors rushed in in a heartbeat.  They didn’t shoo him to the side like previous times, they all but shoved him out of the room and slammed the door on him. 

He staggered over to a nearby chair and collapsed into it.  Dean was less than two degrees away from dying and there was nothing he could do about.  He’d save Dean from the fiery pits of Hell that burned so hot that a mere one-hundred seven degrees would feel like a blast of artic air.

“Cas?”

Cas’ head snapped up, eyes wide with the fear of the gravity of the situation.

“Cas, what— what’s going on?” Sam asked cautiously.

He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came from him.  All he could do was hold his hands up and let them fall to his lap with a helpless shake of his head.  Sam tensed up, coloring draining from his face before he started for the door.  Cas’ mind was too slow to advise Sam against it.  The second Sam opened the door and stepped in, he was immediately rushed out and barked at to stay outside.  He stared at the shut door with a blank expression before numbly stepping back and falling into the chair beside Cas.

“What…happened?” Sam choked out.

“I don’t know,” Cas murmured.

Neither of them said anything more after that.  They just waited in tense silence, staring at the tiled floor.  It felt like an eternity before the clicking of the door opening brought them back to reality.  The nurse held up her hand to stop them from saying anything as the others filtered out behind her, escorting Dean out on a stretcher.

“He’s not dead,” she started.

Both Sam and Cas visibly relaxed.

“But I can’t say he’s doing too well either.  We couldn’t bring his temperature below one-oh-four and he’s in a considerable amount of pain at the moment,” she continued, “He’s under anesthesia to get some relief and is being transferred to the ICU.  He’s relatively stable for the moment, so you can visit with him.  But if he wakes up, do not rile him.  At all.”

Sam nodded in acknowledgement as the nurse walked away.  He hesitated for a moment before pushing himself up and heading down the hall to the ICU with Cas right behind him.  The intensive care unit wasn’t far from where they’d been, but the walk there felt much longer than it was.  Sam caught the door of the new room as it started to swing shut behind the nurses leaving.  Three steps in and Sam stopped; his breathing hitched and tears pricked at his eyes.  He quickly rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes and willed them away.  It was like déjà vu, the way Dean laid perfectly still on his back with a smooth, blank expression.  It had been nearly eight years since he’d seen Dean like that; comatose and dying after they’d been t-boned by a demon-driven semi-truck. 

Cas wasn’t fairing much better.  Though his déjà vu stemmed from what Dean had looked like after he’d stripped all the demonic influence from the hunter in Hell.  He’d been completely numb and more or less in a waking coma while his soul repaired the damage done.

“I can’t do this…” Sam whispered, “Not again.”

He took a half step back and Cas clamped his hand down on Sam’s shoulder to stop him.

“You need to stay here,” Cas murmured.

“Why?  So I can watch him die for the hundredth time?” Sam bit.

“For when he wakes up.”

Sam ducked his head.

“You know he will.  He’s too stubborn to die.  He’ll run and fight his reaper, or perhaps sweet talk the reaper into a deal if it’s a female.”

Sam gave a halfhearted laugh, but didn’t lift his head.  He moved over to a chair and sank down in it and Cas did the same.  Sam sat leaned forward, elbows on his knees and folded hands beneath his chin as he watched his brother laying still.  He couldn’t even try to convince himself that Dean was just sleeping; Dean never layed perfectly straight, he was always sprawled out with the occasional snore.  But he tried to remind himself that Cas was probably right, even if a reaper came for Dean, he’d find a way out of it.

Cas sat leaned back in the chair, fidgeting with his fingers and trying to convince himself of what he’d said.  He did really believe that Dean could escape a reaper, but he was more concerned if he could escape Death.  Given their lives, not to mention Dean’s attitude, he wasn’t exactly fond of the Winchesters.  And with their luck, it would be Death who came to collect Dean.  Cas shifted and settled further into the chair, keeping his eyes fixed on Dean’s still form.

At some point, he must’ve fallen asleep because he was startled awake by Sam shaking his shoulder.

“Hey, d’you wanna go back to the bunker to sleep for a while?” Sam asked, “You haven’t left here since Dean was admitted.”

“No, I just needed to, um…’rest my eyes’.  I’ll be alright, thank you.”

“’Rest your eyes’, pff.  You sound like Dean,” Sam breathed.

Cas hummed in acknowledgment.

“Well, if you’re gonna stay here, then I’m gonna go get something to eat,” Sam said, standing up, “You want me to bring you back something?”

“Yes, I’d appreciate that,” Cas replied.

Cas watched Sam leave the room, waiting for the door to click shut before rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.  He missed being able to stay awake and watch Dean without worrying about falling asleep himself.  He looked up to the monitors; the one displaying the temperature reading _103.5°_ , though the last digit seemed to waver consistently.  His gaze drifted over to the next one; the heart monitor maintained an unsettling calm line that was interrupted every few seconds by a weak spike.  Cas reassured himself the line’s steadiness was due to Dean still being under anesthesia.  On the same monitor, below that line, there were two numbers; _114_ and _75_.  He had heard a nurse refer to them as being the blood pressure, but he wasn’t sure what it should be or if that was good.  Going by the nurse’s tone when she said it, it wasn’t good.

Cas’ eyes flicked back up to the heart beat line; it had spiked twice in the time it had been taking it do so once.  For a moment, it fell back into its previous rhythm but then quicken slightly again and managed to maintain that.  Cas watched Dean closely as he slowly came out of the anesthetic sleep.  A few small twitches as he came back into himself and then he was blinking his eyes open and wincing at the lights.  Dean gave a tired scowl up at the ceiling before looking around and settling on Cas.

“’M not crazy, this is a different room, right?” Dean mumbled.

Cas glanced down for a second, allowing himself a small smile before looking back up.

“Yes, this is a different room,” Cas answered, “Though I would still question your sanity.”

Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes with a sigh, but he did appreciate the light tease.

“Where’s Sam?”

“He went to get something to eat…are you hungry yet?  It’s been quite a while since you ate.”

Dean shook his head.  If anything, the past couple days had all but eradicated his appetite.  Cas rolled his jaw, wanting to object to Dean’s refusal, but thought better of it when he remembered the nurse had said not to rile him at all.

“You still got that message from Kevin?” Dean asked.

“Yes, I have it saved,” Cas replied, pausing and thinking for a moment, “Dean, if…if Kevin is truly dead, I, um…I doubt that the angel…did anything with the body.”

“Oh, Christ…” Dean moaned, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Perhaps, I should…?” Cas started.

Dean closed his eyes with a sigh and nodded.  He turned his head to Cas and Cas couldn’t recall ever seeing the hunter’s green eyes so dull and dark.  Dean held his hand out for Cas’ phone.  He fished it out of his pocket and handed it over to Dean.

“’M gonna tell him,” Dean spoke, flipping through the menu, “Soon as he gets back.”

“Would you like me to st—“

“No,” Dean interrupted, “No, you need to…um, to go take care of Kevin…”

Cas nodded once.  When Dean found the message with the sigil and instructions, Cas wasn’t sure if he looked relieved or more grim.  He couldn’t blame Dean though; on one hand, the deceptive angel would be out of Sam.  On the other hand, Sam would more than likely die.  While Cas was thinking about that, another two thoughts crossed his mind.  One, how exactly Dean planned to execute the sigil when he’s practically confined to the bed.  The second being, if he did manage to do that, there was certainly no way in Hell he was going to stay calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was a scene i really _really_ wanted to do in this chapter because it's just like OMFG but it woulda made this chapter like 3 times longer and i didn't wanna do that but it'll make the perfect length for the next chapter   
>  *dark giggling in the distance*
> 
> thoughts, comments, feels?


	15. Flatline

Dean turned the marker over in his hands, trying to think of where he could draw the sigil.  He’d made Cas go find a marker, _‘Not a pen, that’s not gonna work’_ , before he left to go take of Kevin’s body.  Cas had tried to stall, but Dean told him to hurry up and take care of him.  The sooner, the better.  Dean rolled his head to one side, staring up at the monitors.  He scowled at how they were limiting his mobility.  He sat back with a sigh, looking down at either side of the bed.  The heavy plastic railings on the side, used for moving the entire bed, would work.  He picked up the phone again, double checking what the sigil looked like, and twisted over onto his side.  The movement ignited sharp spikes of pain all along his spine, making him lay back with a short cry.

He took deep breathes through his mouth, ignoring the pin pricks of sweat, and twisted over again.  The pain jabbed up and down his back, especially heavy around his shoulders and neck, but he gritted his teeth and stifled a second cry down to a deep moan.  He held the plastic railing with one hand, to keep himself there, and dropped his head.  Dean waited until the pain subsided just a little; if he waited for it to go away completely, he’d be there all day and get nowhere.  A minute later, Dean uncapped the marker with his teeth and spit the cap out onto the floor.  He started with the circle and scribbled in the lines within the circle.  When he was done, he just dropped the marker on the floor.

Dean rolled back onto his back with a sigh of relief.  That was done, but now he had to find a way to cut his hand, since blood was needed to trigger it.  All his knives were either back at the bunker or in the Impala.  There were no scalpels left out, obviously.  Dean groaned and sat up, with a great amount of effort, and felt along the bed for anything he could use.  He leaned over one side, feeling under the bed, and nearly fell off.  He ignored that fact and was glad he managed to find a piece of sharp plastic under the bed.  A previous patient must’ve broken part of the railing and no one realized it.  Dean shifted and reached under with his left hand; since the sigil was on the left side of the bed, it would be easier.  It took a few tries, but he managed to slice his hand with a shallow cut. 

Dean laid back, clutching his injured hand closed, and smiled lazily to himself.  He could fix this.  Even being so incapacitated and weakened, he could still fix one of his fuck ups.  Sam would be fine, he was sure even if the angel wasn’t actively healing him, that he still got enough benefit from the angel to be fine without him.  Plus, they were in a hospital.  One that was apparently unable to heal Dean, but a hospital nonetheless and that was better than nothing.

He closed his eyes, trying to shake off the pounding headache and heat that was trying to push him into unconsciousness again.  He kept focused on the changing tempo of the machines’ beeps to keep himself conscious.

A few minutes ticked by and he heard the door open.  He snapped his eyes open, regretting it immediately and rubbing them to soothe the pain.

“Afternoon,” Sam half smiled.

He lifted his arm, drawing attention to the tray of food in his hands.  Dean dropped his head back against the pillow; he’d just gotten through telling Cas he still wasn’t hungry.

“How you feeling?” Sam asked, sitting beside the bed.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but Sam interrupted him.

“Be honest.”

He clamped his mouth shut, narrowing his eyes at Sam.

“Fine,” Dean huffed, “I feel like shit.  Absolute shit.”

Sam pursed his lips and nodded, glancing away.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asked and motioned to the food, “Said he was kinda hungry.  Pretty sure you don’t wanna eat.”

“Yep,” Dean sighed, “He went to…”

To what, go burn the body of one of their closest friends?  Because the angel inside Sam killed him?

“To…the bathroom,” Dean lied.

“The bathroom?”

“Yeah,” Dean licked his lips.

“You know, you are hooked up to a heart monitor so I can tell you’re lying…”

“No, you can’t,” Dean bit, “We’re professional liars, you think something like that would give me away?”

“Dean—“

“Where were you?” Dean challenged.

“Huh?”

“Shouldn’t take ya that long to get food.”

Now Sam was completely sure Dean was lying.  That was the only time he tried to change the subject or turn the conversation onto him.  Sam clapped his hands together between his knees, looking down at the floor.

“I, uh, stopped to talk to your doctor,” Sam started.

“Doc Useless,” Dean stated.

“Doctor Anderson,” Sam corrected.

Dean watched him; he was keeping his eyes down on the floor.  It was the probably the best chance he was going to have to trigger the sigil.  He let his arm fall over the side of the bed, feeling around for the ever-so slightly sticky feeling of ink on plastic.

“He said that you _didn’t_ talk him about treating you for one of the diseases they think you have, like I told you to do,” Sam chided.

“Sorry, I was a little busy dying,” Dean drawled.

“Not funny, Dean.  So, I talked to him about it.  It took a little convincing, and some lying, but uh, they’re gonna start treatment for encephalitis first.”

“Great…” Dean drawled.

Where was the damn sigil?  Dean checked to make sure Sam still wasn’t looking, he didn’t want to tip the angel off.  He grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled himself over it, choking down cries and moans of pain, and found the sigil to be lower than he thought he’d drawn it.  He unclenched his hand, still bleeding enough to trigger it.

“Hey, uh, Sammy?” Dean prompted.

“Yeah, Dean?”

Sam looked up just as Dean hit the sigil with his bloody palm.  The sigil flared brightly as it burned up, stinging more harshly at Dean’s eyes than anything else had.  He fell back onto the bed with a yelp of pain, curling in on himself and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.  Sam flinched and jumped up to the side of Dean’s bed.              

“Dean, what the hell!”

“No!  No, shut up, I…I gotta tell ya something,” Dean ground out.

He waved his arm at Sam, getting his brother to back up a few steps.  Dean relaxed a little, curling and blinking hard to get his sight back.

“Dean—“

“No, Sammy, just listen, okay?” Dean cut.

Sam nodded.

“I gotta t-tell you some stuff,” Dean started, “It’s gonna piss you off.”

“Okay…” Sam replied slowly.

“Those— Those trials really messed you up—“

“Yes, I know that, Dean.”

“No, you don’t,” Dean snapped, “I mean messed you up, like almost dead.  No more birthdays, dust to dust.  Well, that messed me up, so—“

“So, what?  You’re saying this,” Sam motioned to Dean, “Is somehow my fault?”

“What?  No.  No, Jesus, just listen!” Dean growled, taking a labored breathes, “It messed me up, so I made a move, okay?  A tough move about— about you, without talkin’ it over because you were in a c-coma…”

“What?  When?” Sam checked over Dean again, “Um, Dean, are you okay?”

“Sam, I swear to God, I will hit you if you interrupt me one more time,” Dean growled.

Sam held up his hands in innocence, but kept scanning his eyes over Dean.  He was breathing harder, sweat starting to glisten on his skin, clearly struggling to maintain focus.  Then he made the mistake of looking at Dean’s vitals. 

_105.1°_

_126 BPM_

_122/81_

“Dean, you need to calm—“

“Sammy!” Dean roared, then taking a breath, “Y-you were in the hospital and— and they said you were gonna die.”

Sam picked up on the change in Dean’s tone.  He tore his gaze from the slowly climbing numbers and almost glared at Dean.   

“What did you do?”

“….I, uh…I let an angel in,” Dean breathed.

He watched Sam with heavy, but baited breaths, resisting the urge to let unconsciousness take him.  Sam worked his mouth a few times, tilting his head in confusion.

“In…what, Dean?”

“In you,” Dean replied shortly.

Sam scowled at Dean, turning away from him.

“H-He said he could heal you a-and he is,” Dean said quickly, but not adding _At least, I hope he is_.

“He’s still in me?!” Sam squawked.

Dean nodded weakly.

“Wait, that’s impossible.  That couldn’t happen, I never invited him in,” Sam snorted.

“…I tricked you into saying yes.  It— It seemed like the only way.”

Sam stared at Dean in disbelief.  Of all the cunning and trickery he’d seen Dean do, if he was telling the truth, this was by far the worst thing he’d ever done.  Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, turning away from Dean to take a second to calm down.  As awful as it was, and as much anger was rising in him, he still didn’t want to rile Dean into a panic.  He glanced over his shoulder at the monitors.

_105.9°_

_132 BPM_

_124/82_

Sam licked his lips and clenched his jaw as he turned to face his brother again.  Dean watched him with sorrowful, regretful and pained eyes.  He took a deep breath to keep his voice even as Dean ducked his head.

“So, again…you thought I couldn’t handle something,” Sam said, choosing each word carefully, “So, _you_ took over.”

“No, I did what I had to!” Dean defended, “You would’ve never agreed to it and you would’ve died…”

“Well, maybe I would’ve like the choice at least,” Sam snipped.

“We can do this later, okay?  You can— can my ass as soon as I get out of here, hell, even before!” Dean offered, “But right now, we got bigger problems.”

“Bigger?” Sam repeated incredulously.

“The angel lied to me,” Dean admitted.

Sam paled.

“Okay?  He’s— He’s not who he said he was.  He said his name was Ezekiel, cool guy according to Cas, but it’s not Ezekiel…!”

“Who is he?” Sam panicked, the fear coming through in his voice.

“I-I don’t know,” Dean drew in a ragged breath, “Apparently, Ezekiel is dead.  And whoever this guy is can end you in a heartbeat, if he wants to.  So, you have _got_ to dump him.”

Sam stared at Dean, his breathing was nearly as heavy and uneven as Dean’s.  Dean tried to ignore the stabs of pain along his body, the tension rising in his muscles, the pounding headache and ringing in his ears.  He lowered his head and tried to meet Sam’s eyes as his brother looked everywhere in the room but at him.

“A-are you hearing what I’m saying?” Dean prompted.

Sam didn’t reply.

“I think you’re well enough now,” _I hope_ , “But you g-gotta…gotta expel him.”

Sam still didn’t reply or look at him.

“Sam?”

Sam ran a hand down his face and turned away from him, starting for the door.  Dean panicked and, ignoring all semblance of good reasoning, scrambled around on the bed and swiped at the machines.

_106.3°_

_136 BPM_

_125/83_

He managed to hit the power buttons, turning all the screens black and ripped the wires away from himself.  Of course, now the nurses and doctors would have no clue to Dean’s condition.  He threw his legs over the bed and stood up quickly; promptly falling down.  His severely weakened state, coupled with not having walked in a while, didn’t allow for him to be steady.  He grabbed the edge of the bed and hauled himself back up, gasping for breath and trembling now.  He gritted his teeth, growling in pain and started for the door.  He made it two steps before dizziness hit, tilting the room back on him and making him fall backwards.  He righted himself, to his hands and knees at least, and took a few shallow breaths.

He forced himself to look up, fighting back the darkness beginning to cloud his vision.  He could see Sam paused in the doorway, looking down at him.  Dean tried to tell himself that it was a trick of the light, or unconsciousness playing at him, but something was wrong.  Wrong about the way Sam stood, wrong about the way he stared down at him.

“S-Sammy?” Dean forced out.

“Sam’s gone.  But…I played him rather well, don’t you think?” the angel spoke.

Dean felt the air being punched out him and the room spun around him.  Even on his hands and knees, he stumbled and fell against the tiles; ice cold against his boiling skin.  Dean glared up at the angel smirking down at him.

“The sigil you used was incorrect,” the angel stated simply.

“Y-you son of a b-bitch,” Dean growled.

Dean grabbed blindly at the chairs, trying to get a grip on one and drag himself back up.  He stood on two shaky legs, breathing raggedly with his eyes trained on the angel.  If looks alone were enough to kill, the angel would be no more.  But that not being the case, the angel looked at him moderately impressed, but nowhere near concerned. 

“Careful.  I do believe the nurses advised not getting riled up over something.”

“I’ll kill you…” Dean seethed.

The angel offered him a taunting half smile; the way he did it just looked so wrong on his little brother’s face.  Dean drew in a deep breath, steeling himself and letting go of the chair.  He strode across the room, sending a flash of alarm across the angel’s face and spurring him to move, though he kept his movements calm and controlled.  He simply turned and began walking down the hallway, glancing over his shoulder to seen falling against the door frame.  He faced forward again, continuing down the hall.

Dean stared after him helplessly; even getting to the door had taken the very last of his energy.  He dropped his head and slid down to the floor.  He’d fucked up and he _couldn’t_ fix it like he’d thought.  In fact, now the situation was worse because the screw up he’d committed, the one he’d done in honest to save his brother, ended up being the one taking his brother away.  Everything was fucked.  Everything was hot and dark, ringing loud in his ears, pounding in his head, trying to snap his neck and tear his muscles as the invisible force of nature choked him.

“Dean?!”

“C-C…Cas?” Dean croaked.

“Dean, what happened?!”

Cas bolted past him, slamming the ‘call nurse’ button and was in front of Dean in a heartbeat.  Dean’s skin was burning under his touch; he was hot enough to make Cas recoil in surprise.  He fretted over Dean, trying to figure out what to do and decided to grab the hunter by the shoulders and lift him up.  Cas’ hand settled perfectly over the scarred, burned hand print on Dean’s shoulder; the scar had always been somewhat sensitive after healing and now, with all the pain Dean was under, Cas may as well have stabbed a searing knife into his shoulder.  A scream of pain tore from Dean’s throat, scaring Cas into letting go.

In his panic, Cas hadn’t even heard the nurses come running.  He didn’t feel the nurses pushing him back up out of the room, didn’t understand any of their frantic orders to him and each other.  He just suddenly found himself staring through the small glass window of the door.  The nurses moved Dean swiftly, but gently, back onto the bed.  Two of the nurses practically ran out of the room, nearly knocking Cas over, to fetch whatever it was they’d been told to get.  Cas watched as two others worked quickly to get Dean hooked back up to the monitors.  When they did, nearly every single number began flashing alarmed, red numbers.

_107.1°_

_42BPM_

_72/49_

He couldn’t see what they were doing, he could only assume from their motions they were injecting Dean with something.  One moved to the side, placing his hands on Dean’s chest and pumping down hard on him.  The nurse paused, snapping something at the other, who was holding a mask to Dean’s face; trying to get him to breathe.  The male nurse pumped down on Dean’s chest again, and paused for the other to push air through the mask.  The third nurse, who’d been fiddling with a machine of some kind, order them both away from Dean.  One ripped away Dean’s shirt before they both backed off a step, holding their hands up as the third rubbed two paddles together.  He put them to Dean’s bare chest and pressed the triggers, shocking Dean and causing him to arc off the bed slightly.  The nurses quickly turned their attention to the monitors, seeing the heartbeat line pick up pace; but only for a second.

Cas could hear their yelling through the thick door and see the stress and panic on their faces.  The first two resumed what they’d been doing before while the third set the paddles aside and rummaged through a cabinet in search of something.  Cas suddenly found himself being knocked aside by the two nurses who had ran out just a few minutes ago.  They went straight to the bed, immediately placing bags of ice against Dean’s blazing skin in the more critical areas.  They were crowding around him again, blocking him from Cas’ already limited view.

Suddenly the nurses broke apart, temporarily removing the ice, and the same nurse as before rubbed the paddles together again.  He gave Dean a harder shock, his body arcing more than last time.  But unlike last time, the shock didn’t quicken his heart beat even a little bit.  They were quick to put the ice back on him and crowd over him again.

_107.2°_

_32BPM_

_67/43_

If Dean was being cornered by a reaper, he was losing.  The idea that a reaper might get the better of Dean caused Cas’ breath to catch in his throat in a choked sob.  The sound of machines beeping becoming impossibly more frantic brought stinging hot tears to his eyes.  As much as he didn’t want to watch, he couldn’t look away.  He needed to know if Dean was going to make, needed to _see_ it.  He’d worked so hard, risked so much when he pulled Dean from Hell and to see him now was just crushing.

_“So, what?  This is it?  I get a little sick and it’s lights out?”_

_“If this is your definition of ‘a little sick’, then yes.”_

_“…What was it?”_

_“Meningoencephalitis.  The doctor was correct, but he could not have known about its modification that Sam discovered.”_

_“…”_

_“No remark on that?”_

_“Not really, no…”_

_“I must say, you aren’t putting up near as much of a fight as I expected.”_

_“Yeah, well…I’ve fucked up enough.”_

_“You should give yourself more credit, Dean Winchester.  You’ve saved more people than you know and prevented catastrophic disaster.  More than once.”_

_“…Don’t take me.  Not yet, anyways.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“I…I think I know how to fix this.”_

_“Quite the turnaround there.”_

_“Shut up.  Just…I need you to do me a favor.  Last time I’ll ask, I swear.”_

The machines gave shrill, constant scream, indicating the lines had gone flat.  There was no heartbeat, no blood pressure, his temperature gone beyond lethal level.  The nurses scrambled, believing they could bring him back.  They fought, yelled and snapped at each other for only a few more minutes.  When it became clear there was nothing they could do, they just sank back with heart-crushed, defeated faces.  They didn’t even stand around in disbelief, they were trained to accept when they’d lost.  They spoke calmly to each other now, which served only to push Cas over the edge.  His knees buckled and dropped him to the floor as warm tears began to trail down his face.

At 7:51pm, the Righteous Man died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*shit-eating grin*_  
>  so how y'all doin'?
> 
> (btw, yes i used dialogue from 9x09)


	16. Second Wind

They’d given Castiel time to say his goodbyes.  He had one hour because, as much as like to let him take his time, they couldn’t allow a corpse to remain out for long.  _Corpse._   The doctor had tried to be gentle in his word choice, but really it was either that or ‘dead body’.  Cas let out a breath, looking away from Dean’s still body down to his hands, folded between his knees.  He chewed at his lip for a minute, blinking back tears before lifting his head again.  He couldn’t believe that Dean had failed to outwit his reaper.  Thinking about that, for the hundredth time now, he was almost certain it had been Death who came for Dean.  Even still, Death did seem to favor Dean.  As much as he might disagree, the number of times Dean has escaped a situation that should have killed him, and the times he came back from the dead, said otherwise.

Cas held onto the fragile string of hope that Death would return Dean any second now.  The more time ticked by, the weaker that hope got.  He glanced up at the clock; the mortician would be there in about ten minutes now.  Cas’ breath had become ragged and it was a struggle to keep himself composed.  He wiped a hand across his face, erasing any streaks of stray tears. 

_No chick-flick moments._

Cas shuddered as he swore he heard Dean say it.  Not a memory of past times he’d said it, but actually had just said it.  Cas fixed his eyes on Dean’s body, waiting for his chest to begin rising and falling.  Or a grin to break out across his face.  Or even just to see him staring back.  But he would never be so fortunate.  He exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and pushed himself up from the chair.  He dragged his feet as he crossed over to Dean’s bed and looked over him.

His skin had gone snow white, despite previous tanning, and made the freckles stand out in stark contrast.  Cas could remember placing each one as he’d put Dean’s body back together after the hellhounds had ripped him apart.  Cas’ eyes continued to scan over him; thin lines of scars from monsters, demons, and even a few angels were now visible again.  There’d been a minimal muscle loss from lack of eating, which was obvious by his concaved stomach, but those muscles still held tension; though it was a different kind of tension.  Rigor mortis setting in, rather than constant alertness.

Cas’ eyes trailed back up to Dean’s face.  He couldn’t remember a time the hunter had ever looked so… He didn’t even know how to describe it.  Dean didn’t look relaxed or peaceful.  It was like a trained blank face and Cas found it to be a little disconcerting.  Cas swallowed thickly, shaking his head and glancing at the clock one more time.  The mortician would be there in less than five minutes and Cas wasn’t sure he could handle watching the angel-in-disguise cart Dean away.  He took a deep, steadying breath and leaned down, gently placing his lips to the hunter’s forehead.  He distantly prayed that, even though Dean was gone now, the small gesture would help to put him at a more peaceful rest.

Cas straightened up and forced himself to turn away and head for the door.  He couldn’t have timed it much better.  The mortician brushed past him just outside the door, carrying a white sheet. 

“Castiel, wait just a moment, please.”

As much as he didn’t want to, Cas found himself staying there.

“I, um…” the angel shifted, “It’s…It’s not every day that…If it’s alright with you, I-I’d like to conduct an autopsy.”

“Autopsy?” Cas repeated numbly.

“I would like to know what it was that killed an infamous hunter, if it was not monsters, demons, or angels.”

Cas opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out.

“If you’re not alright with it, I’ll skip over it and have him…released privately to you.  I know hunters don’t exactly have normal funeral rituals.”

Funeral rituals, right.  He hadn’t even given Kevin his pyre yet.  He’d been so sure that Dean would’ve pulled through and would have wanted to be there for Kevin’s pyre.  Cas had even found a morgue in the bunker, there for examining monsters that hunters brought in or holding a hunter’s body until a pyre was prepared.  Cas ran a hand down his face; he now had two pyres to set. 

“I…I would prefer that you not,” Cas murmured.

He knew how human autopsies were conducted and he also knew that some angels were not so good at conducting their own autopsies, if the case in Oklahoma City with the cartoony situation was anything to go by.

“I understand,” the angel nodded, “I’ll take him down to the morgue and prepare some sort of escort for you to take him.”

Cas murmured a thanks and walked out the room.  He wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly found himself rooted in place, just a few steps out into the hall.  He looked over his shoulder, watching as the other man draped the white sheet over Dean.  That was it.  Dean was gone and not coming back, the sheet was the finality of the matter.  Cas could feel a fresh wave of hot tears building up in his eyes.  He took another deep breath, let it out slowly and forced himself to move.

The mortician angel straightened out the white sheet over Dean’s body and set to unlocking the few latches that held the bed to the room.  It was probably a little unconventional, but this wasn’t exactly a normal situation.  He propped the door open and took hold of the railings on the lower part of the bed, pausing a second to tilt his head curiously at the scorched sigil on the far side.  It was a fledgling’s sigil, used by young angels to practice making sigils; it did nothing other than flash it was done correctly.  The mortician hummed and pushed the bed through the door, glancing up and down the hallway for any signs of doctors before continuing down to the morgue.

When he got down there, he pushed the bed to the side of the morgue and went to grab one of the metal examining tables.  He wasn’t going to do an autopsy, he respected Castiel’s wish.  But if a doctor or nurse did happen to come in while he was planning a way to get Dean’s body out unofficially, it wouldn’t due for him to have Dean still in a hospital bed.  Especially given that the bed would need to be returned to the room as soon as possible.  The angel pulled the metal table up beside Dean and forced his arms under the hunter’s lifeless body.  Despite the fact Dean hadn’t eaten in nearly two weeks now, he still weighed a considerable amount.  The angel was certain that if he didn’t have his grace helping him, he wouldn’t be able to lift Dean at all.

He set him down on the metal surface, straightening the sheet out once more, and quickly went to return the hospital bed.  He came back in a matter of minutes, thankful not to run into any doctors, and went right back to the metal table.  It was a shame, really, that someone so feared by monsters and demon, even a few angels, had died.  He’d heard the stories of Dean coming back to life and was certain that he would do just that.  The angel stepped closer to the table, watching for any signs of life.  He tentatively grabbed the end of the sheet and pulled it back.  Nothing had changed.  The angel sighed and started to pull the sheet back over.

Then Dean’s eyes snapped opened as he gasped for air, scaring the angel into skipping back a few steps.  Dean bolted up right and doubled over, nearly falling off the table and desperate for air.  The angel swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, calming himself before going back over to Dean.

“Where the hell am I?” Dean breathed, his voice rough.

“In the morgue,” the angel replied, “And I see you’ve once again lived up to your name.”

Dean eyed him suspiciously, finally catching his breath.

“You know who I am…?”

“There’s not a single angel who doesn’t know how you are, Dean.”

More angels, just what Dean needed upon returning.  His mind slowly reminded him that Cas had mentioned an angel posing as his vessel in the morgue; this one was neutral as far as they knew.

“I had been curious what killed you,” the angel spoke, “But now I’m more curious how you came back this time.”

“What can I say?  Me and Death are just good friends…” Dean replied dryly.

The angel frowned at the lack of explanation as Dean stiffly swung his legs over the table, the white sheet falling to the floor.  He rolled his shoulders and he stood, chasing away the rigor mortis and scowling at the hospital clothing still on him.

“Where’s my stuff?” Dean asked.

“Still in your hospital room,” the angel replied shortly, “One floor up, third room on the left.”

Dean nodded and started for the door, stumbling slightly at the stiffness that lingered.  He checked up and down the hallway before walking as quickly as he could back to the hospital room.  When he got there, he shut the door the door and changed back into his clothes in under two minutes.  He knew he didn’t have a lot of time to fix the situation.  Dean dared to glance up at the clock in the room, _9:23pm_.  Taking away the few minutes spent in the morgue and walking to the room, he had about twenty three hours and forty five minutes left.

Dean shook off the last of the stiffness and ran back out the room, jogging down the hallway to one of the back doors of the hospital.  Seeing a dead man walk right out of the front doors might raise a few questions with the doctors.  He paused for a minute outside the door, cursing the fact that Sam— no, Sam was gone— that the angel possessing Sam had more than likely taken the Impala.  Dean rolled his eyes and stormed off around the corner of the building, heading for the bunker.  Hopefully, at least Cas was there.

He’d thought the hospital was much closer to the bunker than it actually was, but then again, he hadn’t exactly been conscious on the way there.  After a mile, he decided it was taking too long and broke into a run.  He didn’t have time for a leisurely walk through the night.  Even running it took him the better part of an hour to get to the edge of the city where street lights and pavement stopped, leaving only barely maintained rural roads.  He kept running down the gravelly road, cursing when he stepped in a few mud puddles, and didn’t slow until he was sure he was near the bunker.  With no lights to go by, he dragged his feet across the gravel in search of the slight indents of tracks from the Impala.  A minute later, he had them and was following them around down to the garage entrance of the bunker.

He shoved the heavy metal doors of the garage open, making a mental note they really should consider getting a lock or a garage door opener.  Inside, the beautiful classic cars gleamed in their organized lines and at the head of the line was the empty space of the Impala.  _Surprise, surprise…_   Dean left the garage door open behind him, it was only enough for a person to get through, and threw open the door leading into the bunker.  Inside, the bunker was unnervingly silent; he didn’t even dare call out for Cas.  He just walked swiftly down the halls, peaking into every room as he went.  The main hall had a few books and papers scattered about, but nothing more than normal.  A quick glance in the kitchen told him it had been recently raided.  Another glance told him all the alcohol had been taken.  Sudden concern spurred him to move more quickly throughout the bunker.

Nothing in library, the research rooms, the storage rooms or gun range.  Dean only listened for any sounds coming from the dungeon; he really didn’t need any of Crowley’s snarky comments at the moment.  Dean turned and went back to the main hall, this time going down the hallway leading to the bedrooms.  The spare rooms were empty, Sam’s room was empty…But the light from his room shown beneath his door.

Dean held his breath, gently pushing the door open and looking inside.  Cas was laying on his side, with his back to the door, and hardly moving.  Dean rushed over to bed, kicking aside the bottles and few cans, and grabbed Cas roughly by the shoulders.

“Cas?!” Dean barked, shaking him, “Cas, buddy, c’mon!”

Cas drew in a sleepy breath, blinking his eyes open at Dean.  Dean relaxed at the movement, but didn’t let go of the former angel.  He was fighting back the urge to wrap him up in his arms.  But one glance at the clock reminded him he was on a time limit.  He shook his head once, bringing Cas up closer to him and held him like it was the last time.

“Dean…?” Cas murmured.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean replied softly.

Cas didn’t reply, he didn’t even do anything for a minute.  Dean felt him lift his arms slightly, in an effort to return the hug, but then his arms dropped back down.  He could feel Cas start to tremble in his arms and thought he might’ve started crying.  Until he moved back from Cas to look at him and found him giggling.  Cas started laughing even more when Dean tilted his head in confusion.  He knew Cas was more than likely drunk, not knowing what his limit was now that he was human, but nothing even remotely funny had happened.

“Y’know, I thou— thought tha’ alcohol was s’pposed to lessen pain,” Cas slurred, “Not make it worse.”

Dean thought about telling him off for drinking out of pain, but he really didn’t have any room to talk.  He’d just be a hypocrite then.  Plus, even if he did, not a single word would get through to Cas now and he certainly wouldn’t remember it later.

“But…But maybe this is a good pain,” Cas mused, “I get t’see you again…”

“Cas…I’m— I’m really here, it’s not the booze messin’ with you.”

“Course it is, that mor…mort…the guy that oversees the dead people—“

“Mortician?”

“Yeah, tha’ guy.  He’s gonna call any minute an’ tell me he’s got a way to get your body outta there…”

“Cas—“

“And then I’m gonna have t’make a pyre for you too…” Cas sighed, “Maybe I shouldn’t…just in hopes you’ll come haunt me like you threatened to do to Sam…”

“Cas, I’m not…” Dean paused and took a deep breath, “I’m not dead.  I’m here.”

Cas looked at him for a long minute, taking in his words and processing them slowly.  When it finally registered in his mind, Cas stared at him wide eyed and mouth falling open slightly.  Dean could see the tears brimming in Cas’ blue eyes and he’d be lying if he said he couldn’t feel tears pricking at his own; though for an entirely different reason.  Cas threw his arms around Dean, tangling one hand in his hair and the other fisting his shirt.

“Dean—“ Cas choked, “Did you really…Are you really alive?”

“Yeah, course I am,” Dean grinned, “You know nothin’ can keep me down.”

Cas tightened his hold on him, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck.  Dean gave him a gentle pat on the back.

“Hey, relax, buddy.  I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Dean said softly, “...Not yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this can't end peacefully. and what's this about a time limit, hm?


	17. Time is [Not] on Your Side

Cas’ sleep had been restless.  He’d woken up every hour or so, still under the alcohol’s influence, and stared up at Dean to make sure he was still there.  It wasn’t until sometime around four in the morning that Castiel accepted that Dean really was there.  He’d snuggled closer to Dean then, hugging him tight around the waist and nuzzling his face in the hollow of Dean’s shoulder.  Dean had put up with it, even enjoyed it a little, though he’d never admit it.  He just kept an arm around the inebriated former angel, rubbing small circles on Cas’ shoulder with his thumb.

Dean knew he should sleep too, but he couldn’t.  That and he didn’t want to anyways.  The clock was ticking and he had no intentions of missing a single second.  Dean tilted his head back with a sleepy sigh before letting his head slide to rest on top of Cas’.  He didn’t look down at the sleeping form curled up to him.  He just stared at the end of the bed, thinking.  Everything was his fault. 

Well, maybe not _everything_ , but the vast majority of everything that happened to them was his fault.  His father had died because of him.  Ellen, Jo, and Ash had died for him.  In a roundabout way, he blamed himself for Sam becoming addicted to demon blood.  He’d broke the first seal of the apocalypse and, in doing so, made it possible for Sam to break the last and set Lucifer free.  So, the apocalypse was his fault on both ends.  Michael had killed Cas and dragged both Sam and Adam to hell, because of him.  He’d just accepted that Sam was stuck in Lucifer’s cage forever and hadn’t even tried to look for him.  If he had, maybe Sam would’ve gotten his soul back sooner and he wouldn’t have done so many terrible things.  He blamed himself for Bobby and Kevin’s deaths.  For dragging Lisa and Ben into this life and nearly killing them, same as with Charlie.

Dean groaned quietly, rubbing his free hand over his face.  He needed to stop thinking about those things.  They weren’t helping in the slightest.  He tried to remind himself that that’s the past.  If he’s going to blame himself for anything, it should be Heaven falling and an angel hijacking his brother.   Because he did blame himself for letting Heaven fall, he should have questioned Cas about Metatron.  He should have not immediately jumped to help him.  Shouldn’t have tricked Sam, should’ve told him the truth sooner, should’ve told have told the angel to fuck off for kicking Cas out…

This wasn’t doing him any good at all.  He knew when Cas woke up sober, he’d have questions about how exactly it was that he was alive.  Dean could skirt the issue much easier if he wasn’t dogging himself down with guilt. 

With another sigh and a glance at the clock, _5:14am_ , he reluctantly decided to get up.  He moved carefully to bother Cas as little as possible, though he still whined weakly at the loss of comfort.  Dean pulled the blankets up over him before silently picking up the discard cans and bottles.  He couldn’t have Cas leaving a mess in his room now, could he?

Dean dumped the bottles and cans unceremoniously in the kitchen garbage and turned to find a pile of dishes still there.  No one had bothered to do them and, with recent events, he couldn’t blame them.  Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head, walking over to the sink to take care of them.  It was good for him; he needed to be doing something to keep his mind busy.  Once one chore was taken care of, he went to find another; all the while keeping silent so as to not wake Cas.

When Cas did wake up, a few hours later, he was confused to say the least.  He knew he’d been drinking, that he’d gotten drunk.  The puzzling part was discerning what had been drunken hallucinations and what hadn’t.  He could’ve sworn Dean had come back to him, but the bed was empty.  A pillow was propped up for someone to lean against the wall and the drinks had been cleared out.  He gently padded out of the room and leaned over the balcony railing, listening for any signs of life.  There were none.  Maybe it had been a hallucination; maybe he’d been the one propped against the wall and cleared the drinks in a drunken state.  The thought of that possibility sent a crushing wave of depression over him.  He’d gotten his hopes up the hunter had made a comeback, only to realize that he—

“Look who’s finally up.”

 _\--hadn’t_ been dreaming.  Cas stared at Dean who returned it with a soft, teasing smirk as he came down the few steps between the library and main hall.  Dean was there.  He had pulled through somehow.  He had allowed him to snuggle up to him, despite his ‘ _no chick-flick moments_ ’ rule.  There were too many thoughts running through Cas’ mind, but they all came to a stop and his blind went blank.

“What did you do?” Cas blurted.

Dean looked slightly taken aback.  Cas hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but he didn’t take it back.  He was truly grateful and overjoyed that Dean was alive, but such a thing always came at a heavy price; especially where a Winchester was involved.

“What d’you mean?” Dean asked.

“I mean…how are you alive?  You were dead far too long for any sort of ‘last minute miracle’, as I believe they are called,” Cas replied.

Dean swallowed and shrugged his shoulders, looking away for a moment.

“What can I say?  Guess Death still doesn’t want me,” Dean joked.         

“Dean.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” Dean forced a smile, “Everything’s fine.”

Cas tensed his jaw.  He wanted to argue, to say that things were never fine.  But with Dean standing across from him, giving him that practically trade-marked fake ‘I’m okay’ smile, he couldn’t find the words to argue.  Cas just drooped his shoulders in defeat, turning his head to the side.

“C’mon, man, don’t be like that,” Dean sighed, “Everything is fine…well, it will be when we find Sam and get that angel outta him?”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Cas questioned, “The sigil Kevin gave us didn’t work and I imagine time is of the essence.”

Cas was referring to finding Sam in a timely matter, before the angel did something stupid.  But the words struck Dean like a slap to the face.  And it must’ve shown in his expression because Cas was now tilting his head in confusion and staring at him with concern.  Dean shook his head to clear the reminder away and took a shaky breath.

“Yeah, yeah it is.  You got any idea where he might’ve gone?” Dean asked.

Cas shook his head with a sigh.  Dean nodded; of course he wouldn’t know.  The angel wasn’t too keen on communicating, especially with Cas.  Plus, when he’d left, Cas was a little more concerned with Dean dying on the floor than where the angel was going.

“Guess we better find out, huh?” Dean gave another forced half-smile.

He strode past Cas, going right to a closed laptop resting on a now neatly organized and cleared table.  Cas turned around and watched him; it had only been a few minutes but he’d always hated the way Dean would never acknowledge his resurrection and acted like it something unimportant.  He, of all people, should know how heart-wrenching it is to see someone die and have only a slight chance of coming back.  Dean glanced up from the laptop and met Cas’ unintentionally hard glare.  But rather than glare back or make some childish face at him, Dean just shifted and darted his eyes back to the screen.  Cas continued to stare at him a minute longer before relenting and going over to stand behind Dean and see what it was he was doing.

“’Department of Motor Vehicles’?” Cas read aloud.

“Yep.”

“What are you…are you hacking their site?” Cas sounded genuinely a little surprised.

“I learned a few things from a crazy hermit named Frank,” Dean huffed, “Sam’s not the only tech genius.”

Cas frowned at him, but at least he was giving himself some kind of credit.  He watched, not understanding a thing, as Dean typed away at the laptop, opening and closing several windows before he found something useful.  He sat back with a proud grin on his face and looked up in encouragement at Cas. 

“Ran a red light in Pennsylvania,” Dean clarified.

“He’s gone quite far…” Cas noted.

“Yeah, Baby can haul ass,” Dean joked.

“I assume you’ll be choosing one of the cars in the garage to follow him…?”

“’Course.  Gotta save my little brother, right?”

Cas hummed in response, stepping back as Dean stood up.  Dean started off towards the garage, thinking about the situation.  It was about a sixteen hour drive, if traffic went well and he obeyed the speed limit.  Obviously, he wasn’t going to do the later; he had less than sixteen hours remaining.  The clock hanging in the garage informed him it was now _8:57am._ Twelve hours and eighteen minutes remaining, to be exact.  He’d have to really haul ass to shave _four hours_ off a drive like this, which meant he needed a car that could do just that.  Not any of the luxury classic cars, not the heavy posh (for their era) cars…  Dean’s eyes scanned over the rack of keys until he came to one with the familiar bow tie on it.  He snatched the key up with a small smirk, wondering where the classic Chevy was hiding and which one it was.

Cas trotted behind Dean, to keep up with his long strides, and checked out every car they walked past.  The Chevy was parked in a far corner, hidden behind a large Lincoln, but it definitely looked up to the task; being Baby’s ‘older sibling’ was definitely a bonus.  The 1958 Impala gleamed menacingly under the lights that managed to reach it, reflecting them off its glossy black finish.  Dean absently noted this could possibly one of the very, _very_ few cars that could rival his own.  He had his doubts about its ability to actually run, given it hadn’t been started in over sixty years, but relief flooded him when the engine rumbled to life after a few tries.  Cas climbed in the passenger seat, immediately noting the differences of styling between this Impala and Dean’s.  More angular, more chrome, lower, bigger body, more rumble than roar…

He hadn’t even realized they’d moved until Dean mumbled a curse under his breath, stopping the car and getting out to push the metal garage doors further open.  They really needed a mechanized way to do that.  While he’d been doing that, he’d done some quick math in his head.  He’d had to be doing at least a constant ninety miles per hour if he wanted a _prayer_ at getting to Sam in time.  He was almost starting to doubt the aged Impala’s ability; it was a fifty’s car and he’d be lucky if it went that fast when it was new.  But it was the youngest car there.

Dean wasted no time in tearing out of the garage, startling Cas by throwing him back in his seat.   The car’s massive body swung out onto the road, threatening to send itself into a spin before whipping the other direction with the same threat.  Cas knew Dean was in a hurry, but he didn’t know why exactly and that did nothing to ease his subconscious white knuckled grip on the door handle and the seat.  Dean didn’t slow down, even when they reached the city; he maintained highway speeds, managing to weave through traffic and narrowly missing a few cars.  Cas had no doubt that Dean was a skilled driver, plus this car would most certainly win in just about any car wreck, but being inside the large metal beast as it heaved side to side with each passing wasn’t the most comforting feeling.

When they actually got to the highway, having miraculously not been pulled over yet, the engine gave a hesitant groan as Dean shifted gears and floored it.  The engine roared viciously, surging forward and once again planting Cas in his seat.  He could see the speedometer needle rising rapidly, alongside the RPM needle; Dean shifted hard a few more times until the car reached its top gear and speed at 91 miles per hour.  The fact that the car was still able to reach its top speed was a blessing, but according to the math in Dean’s head, it was one mile under what he needed; time was going to uncomfortably close.

“Dean…” Cas spoke carefully.

He didn’t reply, he just kept his eyes fixed on the road and soared past other cars.

“Dean!” Cas snapped.

Dean’s eyes flicked over to him for a moment, which scared Cas.  As much as he wanted Dean’s attention, he wanted him to keep his eyes on the road.  A simple ‘what’ would have sufficed.   But in that moment, Cas caught a glimpse of a torrent of emotions that distracted him from what he was going to say for a second.

“Dean, I know you want to find Sam as soon as possible,” Cas started slowly, “But the angel has no idea we are coming for him and it’s doubtful he’s in much of a hurry.”

Dean tensed his jaw; _he_ was in a hurry.

“Please, could you slow down?  Just enough not to warrant a police chase?”

He contemplated slowing down, he didn’t want to make Cas nervous.

“I can’t,” Dean replied shortly.

“Why not?”

“I just…I can’t.”

Cas tilted his head in confusion with a scowl.  He tried mentally willing Dean to explain, but, of course, it had no effect.  Cas gave a grumble of disapproval, knowing further questioning wouldn’t get him anything and if Dean wanted to explain, he would when he wanted to.  Judging from the look on Dean’s face, that explanation wouldn’t come until the aftermath hit.  He settled back, getting used to the speed and heaving when Dean sharply changed lanes.  Eventually, it became something of a lull to him.  Only twice did Cas wake back up to the sound of voices.  And flashing blue and red lights.  Dean had managed to charm his way out of one ticket, while the other had left him with a hefty fine.  Surprisingly, the cop Dean had charmed had been male…  But those were the only two times Cas awoke during the drive, never when Dean stopped for gas.

When he woke up next, it was to a complete lack of sound.  Cas straightened up, blinking wearily and looked over to Dean who sat with his hands tight on the steering wheel and glaring straight ahead.  Cas followed his gaze to the street perpendicular from them and saw, near a streetlight, the gleam of the familiar Impala.  Dean sucked in a breath and grabbed at the door handle, pulling it harshly and shoving the door open.  Cas went to do the same until Dean grabbed his sleeve and pulled his hand away from the door.

“You’re staying here,” Dean said tensely.

“Dean—“

“I mean it, Cas,” Dean warned.

“Why?  After your attempts to inform Sam of the angel inside him, and get him to expel said angel, I don’t think he will take too kindly to you trying the same thing,” Cas replied, “It would be wiser to have someone with you.”

Cas shook his hand free and reached for the door again.  Dean literally did not have time for this, he had maybe three or four minutes left.  He grabbed Cas by the lapels of his jacket, dragging him away from the door and planting him in his seat; with his face just inches from Dean’s.  Cas’ breath hitched in surprise as he tentatively stared up at Dean, who didn’t meet his gaze.

“Cas, please… _please_ ,” Dean’s voice wavered slightly, “Stay here.”

Cas gave a hesitant, single nod.  Dean let out a ragged breath of relief, letting go of Cas’ jacket and smoothing it down before throwing the driver door open again.  He almost immediately started running as fast as he could, trying to make up what little time he could.  Cas did have a point about the back-up, but he didn’t want the expression Castiel would surely have on his face when it happened to be his last memory of the former angel.  He’d much rather have the confused, scowling look.

The front door of the house straight was left open slightly with no lights on inside.  Either that’s where the angel was or he was about to walk into a burglary scene; given that the Impala was out front, it was a safe bet that it was the former.  He kicked the door aside, rushing through the hallways as some distant part of his mind informed him he now had two minutes and thirty seconds.  He pushed the thought away, finding Sam— the angel in the kitchen, washing his hands.  Dean spared a quick confused glance around, catching a glimpse of a body in the living room on the other side of the hall. 

“I’m a little surprised to see you alive and well, especially so soon,” the angel commented.

Dean snapped his attention back to the angel.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Yeah, well you shouldn’t have hijacked my brother,” Dean cut, “Let me talk to him.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?  It’s like I’m gonna be able to tell him to kick your ass to the curb, you’ll just fuckin’ interrupt again,” Dean growled.

“Sam’s not here,” the angel shrugged, “He’s locked away in a dream world, thinking he’s on a hunt with his big brother.”

_One minute, forty three seconds._

“Then wake him up!” Dean roared, “I need to talk to him _now_!”

The angel narrowed his eyes at Dean, silently warning him to watch his tone.  But Dean made no effort to calm himself.  The angel straightened up, using Sam’s height to show a sort of superiority to Dean.

“What makes you think you’re in a position to order me?” the angel sneered.

Dean swallowed thickly.  _One minute._   He felt a wave of heat wash over him, hotter than his fever had been.

“C’mon, just three words,” Dean nearly begged.

The angel tilted his head in amusement.  The heat dissipated, giving way to a bone chilling cold.  _Thirty seconds._

“ _Please,_ ” Dean choked.

The angel shifted his weight, contemplating.  There wasn’t a whole lot anyone could get through in three words.  Yes, three words could have a massive impact, but he doubted three would be able to convey a message to Sam about his presence.  Still, this was Dean Winchester.  He had a way of getting around things and blind siding his opponents.  _Fifteen seconds._   Using his better judgment, or what he thought was better judgment, the angel turned away from Dean.

“H-Hey, don’t you walk away from me!” Dean snarled.

 _Ten seconds_.

Dean crossed the space between them in just a few long, easy strides; uneasy at the numbness the coldness was now bringing.  It wasn’t the sort of numbness from being cold.  Dean grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.  The angel was shocked, then immediately offended and angry by the action, smacking Dean’s arm away.

“Sam, I don’t if you can hear me,” Dean blurted quickly, “But, I’m _so_ sorry.”

_Time’s up._


	18. What I've Done

Cas fidgeted restlessly in the car.  Dean had only been inside a few minutes, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something very bad was going to happen.  Cas bit his lip and decided to not sit and wait like Dean had told him.  He threw the car door open and started walking briskly towards the house.  He’d hadn’t gotten more than a few steps before a low, brilliant blue glow pulsed through the windows of the house.  The light within the house dimmed and, for a moment, it was as if the entire city had gone dead silent.

The silence was broken by the sudden shattering off all the windows as another light, just as brilliant as the first, flashed and twisted; fleeing from the house faster than Cas had ever seen an angel flee.  He watched the angel’s grace twisting and writhing as it streaked across the night sky, disappearing into the horizon.  The angel was gone, that was fantastic news, but Cas couldn’t appreciate it until he knew how.  There was nothing Dean had on the angel to make him leave, he didn’t even know the angel’s name.  He hadn’t bothered looking up other sigils and he had no power to simply eject an angel from a body; no being other than the host had that power.  He continued to stare where the angel had vanished from sight until he heard a faint sound of crunching glass.

Cas snapped his attention back to the house to see Dean walking out, carrying Sam in his arms as if his little brother _wasn’t_ some kind of giant.  He was carrying like he was nothing more than a five year old.  Cas ran forward, looking for any signs of obvious injuries or repercussions to a contract; there were none.  He met Dean halfway between the house and the car, opening his mouth to say something, but shutting it when he saw the numb, dead look in the hunter’s green eyes.  Dean continued on past him, like he hadn’t even seen him, and went right to the Impala; his Impala, not the one they’d borrowed from the garage.  He shifted his weight, somehow managing to hold Sam with just one arm while he opened the door with the other.  With still little effort, he laid Sam down in the back seat moving over him to, what Cas could only presume, buckle him up in some way so he didn’t fall to the floor with Dean’s driving.

Dean straightened up, pausing a moment before turning to face Castiel with a mildly expectant look.  Cas tilted his head, not understanding what the look was for.  Dean sighed lightly, rolling his eyes to the side before waving his hand towards the front seat.  He was expecting Cas to get back in the car.  Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean’s lack of words, but said nothing as he cautiously walked over to the car.  Dean got in the Impala, still not saying a word and hardly acknowledging Cas as he got in.  He started up the car and pulled away from the house.

“What— What about the other Impala?” Cas broke the silence.

“Get it later,” Dean muttered.

Just like that, silence settled back over them.  Cas shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep himself from staring at Dean, but something was wrong with him.  He could feel it.  A few more minutes went by and Cas glanced up in the rearview mirror, barely able to see Sam’s still form.  He hadn’t said or even done anything to give an indication of life.

“Is Sam…alive?” Cas asked tentatively.

“Yep.”

Something was definitely wrong.  Dean’s voice and face were devoid of emotion, he wasn’t looking at Cas.  He wasn’t even glancing over his shoulder to check on the little brother he dedicated his life to protecting.

Dean had said nothing more, hadn’t spared a glance at anything that was the road, or the gas station when they needed it.  Cas had slept most of the way there, so he really wasn’t tired, but if he had been, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep with this…unease.  He kept himself as pressed against the door as he possibly could’ve have.  He didn’t even get so much as a curious glance from Dean.  The entire car ride back to the bunker was so unsettling that Cas believed the human language needed a new word to define that feeling.  It didn’t help that the whole ride home, Dean didn’t speed like a maniac like on their way to Sam.  He continued on at a relaxed highway speed, passing no more the five cars the entire time.  Cas counted; he needed something to distract himself.

By the time they reached the bunker, Cas was ready to throw the door open and run, even before they’d gotten to the garage entrance.  But he didn’t; he stayed himself until the Impala took its place at the top of the line of the classic cars.  Dean cut the engine, getting out silently and moving the back passenger door to get Sam.  Once again, he lifted his over-sized brother like he was nothing.  With Sam in his arms again, Dean gently kicked the door shut.  Cas narrowed his eyes at the motion; Dean would never kick Baby, even if it was gently.  Well, no, scratch that.  He knew Dean had beaten the living hell out of the trunk with a crowbar in a fit of rage after his father’s death.  But as far as Cas knew, nothing was bothering Dean.  Nothing at all.

Cas trailed a few steps behind Dean, trying to figure out what could have possibly happened back in the house.  Dean went straight to Sam’s room, nudging the door open with the back side of his shoulder and crossing over to Sam’s bed.  He laid him down the bed, taking only enough care to straighten Sam out a little so he wasn’t lying in an uncomfortable position.  When he turned around, he tilted his curiously, surprised to see Cas watching him with a similar expression.

“Dean—“

“Everything’s fine,” Dean cut shortly, “Sam will wake up in a little while.”

With that, Dean brushed past Cas and walked down the hallway towards the bathroom.  Cas remained in the doorway, staring at the space Dean had been standing in and just listening.  A moment later, he heard the faint sound of the shower turning on.  Cas ran a hand down his face, still not understanding what exactly had happened.  Dean had _died_ , come back acting off and in a hurry, and now… He was disturbingly calm, even a little detached it seemed.

Cas didn’t know what to do, he ended up finding himself pacing around the library.  He wasn’t looking for anything, he just needed something to do.  Time ticked by slowly, undisturbed.  He was certain Dean had finished his shower a while ago, but the hunter hadn’t come to find him yet and it wasn’t like Cas was hiding from him.  A few more minutes when by and Cas heard a noise at the far end of the shelves of old text.  Hoping it was Dean, and hoping to get some decent answers from him this time, Cas hurried down to the otherside.  Only to find Sam stumbling across the main hall towards the library.

“Cas…?”

He looked like hell, whatever sleep he’d been in hadn’t done him any good.  Cas’ mind quickly attributed his poor appearance to the trials.  Without the angel in him any longer, the repercussions were probably catching up to him.       

“Yes, Sam,” Cas nodded, “Are you feeling alright?”

“Kinda feel like I got by a train…” Sam sighed.

“Perhaps you should sit down,” Cas suggested.

Cas walked over to Sam as he sat down, partially to make sure he actually made it to the chair and not the floor.  Sam muttered a ‘thanks’ and rubbed his hands down his face, taking a minute to get his bearings.  While he did, Cas glanced around for any sign of Dean, but it didn’t seem like there were any.  With how quiet he’d been on the ride home, Cas wouldn’t be surprised if he’d managed to sneak out and leave without him knowing.  Just to make sure, Cas pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Dean’s number.  A second later, he could hear a cellphone ringing softly just down the hall; from Dean’s room if he had to guess.  One ring, two rings, three—

The third ring cut off halfway through and Cas’ heart skipped a beat thinking Dean had answered.  He was disappointed when it went to voicemail.  Cas scowled, knowing Dean’s phone rang five times before it went to voicemail.  His call had been declined.  He reluctantly stuffed his phone back in his pocket with a sigh; at least Dean was still here.

“Hey, Cas?”

Cas turned his attention back to Sam.

“What, um…what happened?  Where’s Dean?”

“It’s…somewhat of a long story, I don’t know if I should—“

“No, I mean, I know what he…did.  That he _tricked_ me into saying yes to an angel,” Sam paused for a second and Cas could see anger making its way on his face, “But, I mean, what happened after that?  What’d the angel do?  Where’s Dean now?”

Cas nodded again and pulled out the chair beside Sam, sitting down.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Cas asked.

“Being at the hospital,” Sam shrugged, “Um, coming back with food after Dean got moved to the ICU.  Talking to his doctor in the hallway because I figured Dean didn’t.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yeah, what happened?” Sam asked again.

Cas could tell Sam was getting impatient.  He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and looking up at Sam.

“Dean died,” Cas stated bluntly.

“I’m sorry, he _what?_ ”

“He died,” Cas repeated, “He was dead for several hours…”

“’Was’?”

“Yes, your brother, being who he is, somehow found a way to come back again,” Cas said, “I don’t know how, he wouldn’t tell me.  But he was very concerned with finding you.”

Sam leaned back in the chair, blinking a few times and trying to comprehend what Cas had just said.  Cas waited a minute for it to sink in a little before continuing.

“I don’t what happened when he did find you, he made me wait in the car.  But he was oddly calm when he came back out.”

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, struggling to remember anything, anything at all, that happened in the few seconds between the angel leaving him and passing out.  The only thing that came to mind was a brief glimpse of Dean’s face and then the ceiling.  There hadn’t been any concern on Dean’s face.  He’d been unconcerned when Sam lost consciousness and fell, he’d been calm when he carried Sam out.  That wasn’t the Dean either of them knew.  Dean would’ve panicked, tried to wake Sam up, run out of the house, _something_.

“So, what’s he doing now?” Sam asked slowly.

“I’m not sure.  He was taking a shower, but he hasn’t come back,” Cas replied.

“I think…I need to go talk to him,” Sam said, more to himself than Cas.

“I’m right here.”

Both Sam and Cas flinched at Dean’s voice, snapping their eyes up to see him standing at the end of the hall.  Clean shaven, his hair a little shorter than before, dressed up a little nicer than usually, less stressed…  Dean didn’t react to their confused, now turning cautious, faces.  He just stared down at them, waiting for one of them to speak.  But Cas’ voice was caught in his throat; it looked like the last four years had just simply fallen off Dean.  Cas subconsciously moved his foot to nudge Sam, spurring him to say something.

“Hey, um…” Sam stammered, “Did, uh…w-what happened…?”

Dean raised his eyebrows, silently prompting him to be more specific.  Sam wanted to know everything that happened and it seemed like Dean was willing to talk, for once.  But he didn’t know how long that would last and decided to start with the more important question.

“At the house,” Sam said.

Dean tensed slightly, but overall, didn’t change his stance.

“I fixed a…fuck up,” Dean answered.

They’d both heard Dean swear before, he did it fairly often.  But this time it just sounded so _wrong_ coming from his mouth.

“You…wanna tell me how?” Sam asked.

“Got the angel out of you.  I should’ve never tricked you, it…messed things up,” Dean sighed, “But I fixed it.”

“Okay, Dean, um…I’m glad you’re not, like, running away from a conversation like this, but you’re not exactly giving us a straight answer,” Sam winced, both fearing and hoping that would set him off, “What did you _do_?”

“I expelled him,” Dean said simply.

“What?” Sam deadpanned.

“How?” Cas demanded, “Only a vessel can eject an angel.”

Dean rolled his jaw, clicking his tongue and looking away for a second.  They knew he was trying think up some kind of excuse.

“I found a loop hole,” Dean shrugged.

Cas stood up, taking a cautious step forward.  Dean’s eyes darted to Cas and watched him carefully.  Cas froze, swallowing nervously and feeling a chill run down his spine from the stare.  He took a few deep breaths before he spoke again.

“Unless, you’ve somehow found a way to create a loop hole,” Cas started, “You should not be able to do that.”

“I’ve always done things I shouldn’t be able to,” Dean replied nonchalantly.

“Dean,” Sam spoke, “What did you do?”

“I told you,” Dean bit, “But as much as I would’ve liked to…kick his ass for what he’s done, I had things to take care of.”

There it was again, that wrongness that had come along with Dean saying ‘fuck’ just a minute ago.  Sam stared at Dean suspiciously, he’d done something and he wasn’t giving them a real answer.  But he wasn’t avoiding the subject, not entirely, just how he managed to expel an angel from another person.  The only way Sam could think of for Dean to get such a power was—

“Did you sell your soul?” Sam squawked, “ _Again_?”

Cas was alarmed at the possibility, looking from Sam to Dean with frantic concern on his face.  Dean tilted his head, finally showing emotion, though it was confusion.  He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No, I did not ‘sell my soul’,” Dean sighed.

“Then what did you do?” Cas growled.

Dean glared at Cas with such intensity that Cas found himself choking back a whimper and sitting back down in the chair.  Dean took several long, decisive strides towards Cas, coming to stop unnerving close to him and leaned forward.

“Do _not_ speak to me in such a tone,” Dean seethed.

Cas tried to sink further in the chair, confused and frightened.

“For what I have done for you, and _him_ ,” Dean pointed at Sam, disgust at the edge of his voice, “And for the ridiculous things I’ve agreed to, you _will_ show some respect.”

Sam now shared in Cas’ fear and confusion.  Dean relaxed, a flicker of realization flashing across his face.  He took a steadying breath, standing up straight and the oddly calm, blank expression returned to his face.  Dean stepped back, giving Cas some space, though the former angel didn’t relax in the slightest.  Dean simply looked between the two of them, waiting for a reaction.  For them to call him on mistake he’d made and realized too late.  Both of them were too afraid of another outburst.  Dean didn’t react like that very often, and in comparison to the past, it was minor reaction.  But when he did act out, it was better to get the hell out of the way.

Dean glanced down at the floor, licking his lips and sighing before looking around the room.  He reached into his back pocket, pulling out two slips of paper.  He stared at the objects in his hands, not just paper, but envelopes.

“Here,” Dean spoke.

He held both envelopes out for Sam and Cas to take.  Sam was the first to move, regaining courage faster since Dean hadn’t been in his face.  He took both envelopes, looking at each one, then handing one to Cas.  Cas saw the back side first; poorly sealed, like it had been in haste or with trembling hands.  Written in shaky, but unmistakably Dean’s handwriting was his name.  Cas turned the envelope over, looking at the front.  In different, much more steady and elaborate handwriting was his full name.  Not the nickname ‘Cas’ like on the back, but ‘Castiel’.  He stared at the beautiful handwriting, glancing at Sam from the corner of his eye and seeing that Sam was doing the same.  Cas could see the back of Sam’s envelope had ‘Sam’ written in Dean’s handwriting and ‘Samuel’ written neatly on the front. 

Cas returned his attention to his own envelope, trying to figure out the reason for the difference in writing.  It was such a dramatic difference and Dean hadn’t used Castiel’s full name in a very long time.  He couldn’t even remember Dean calling Sam ‘Samuel’, even when he’d put Dean back together after Hell, he hadn’t seen a glimpse of a memory where he did so.  Cas kept staring at the handwriting; beautiful, practiced, steady, familiar…

“Michael,” Cas breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa wait what


	19. Scarlet Letters

A small, smug smile quirked the corners of Dean’s— Michael’s lips.  Cas knew Michael was still trying to keep himself composed, if it weren’t for that, it would probably be a wide, wolfish grin accompanied by some kind of light taunting or mockery.  Michael wasn’t exactly the most humble angel, but he did have moments of a certain kind of mercy; like right now.  Michael looked between Cas and Sam, he nodded once, trying to restore a neutral expression.

“I’ll leave you to your letters then,” Michael said.

He turned on his heels, disappearing back down the hall.  Cas knew his brother, he hated calling Michael that, well enough to know the prideful, victorious expression he wore with his back turned.  Cas drew in a ragged breath, looking down at the envelope in his hands and then over at Sam.  Sam looked conflicted about opening it; he was still upset at Dean for what he’d done, probably furious, but he needed an explanation and the letter was the only thing that was going to give it to him.  He ran a hand down his face, standing up and swaying slightly at the quick movement.  He waved Cas off, muttering that he just stood up too quick and that he was going to go lay back down for a bit.  He would, but after he’d read Dean’s letter.  He just wanted some privacy because God only knows what the paper says.

Cas wanted to retreat to Dean’s room to read his own letter, but was hesitant.  Technically, Dean’s room was now Michael’s and he may very well be in there.  Still, Cas got to his feet and went down the hall to the room to check.  The door was already cracked open and Cas pushed it a little further to peek inside; Michael wasn’t there.  Cas let out a sigh of relief and crossed over to the bed.  It had been made, sort of.  It was much neater than he and Dean had left it, but it wasn’t perfect.  Michael must’ve just straightened out enough to not bother him.  Cas scowled at it, stuffing his letter in his pocket, and proceeded to mess it up again.

Satisfied, he dropped down on the bed, snuggling back against the pillows and taking the envelope back out of his pocket.  He just stared at the now wrinkled envelope. 

 

Further down and across the hall, Sam wasn’t fairing too much better.  He hadn’t even opened his letter yet.  He’d just been sitting there with it in his hands, staring at it.  Part of him didn’t even want to hear Dean’s reasoning for his idiotic choices, but the other part of him demanded an explanation.  Sam ran a hand through his hair, then tore the envelope open and pulled out the letter out carelessly.

 

_Sam—_

_I don’t even know where to start, man.  I don’t know how much you know or what the angel let you remember.  Guess I could start there, since he really fucked it up when I tried to tell you.  Yeah, there ~~is~~ was an angel in you and it’s my fault.  The trials kicked your ass pretty hard, especially in the church.  Like you were in a coma and dying.  And it messed me up and the only thing I could think of was to get an angel’s help.  Turns out a few angels wanted me in their debt and some shit went down at the hospital, but one guy seemed pretty decent.  Said his name was Ezekiel.  Cas said he was a good guy, so I figured if I was gonna trick you into letting an angel in, the one Cas vouches for is good, right?  He would’ve been good…if he’d really been Ezekiel._

_I found out in the hospital that Ezekiel died in the fall.  Before you freak out, he’s gone, okay?  There’s no more angel in you.  There better not be, anyway.  You’re probably sittin’ there wondering how the hell I tricked you and how the hell I got the angel out.  Well, Mr. College Education, the angel helped me trick you by gettin’ in your head and pullin’ all kinds of illusionary crap on you.  Death was there and I don’t think he was too happy to see me.  Can’t blame him.  But, with our luck, I wasn’t fast enough to be the one to get him out, the angel, I mean.  I wanted just like ten goddamn minutes to talk to you, but I didn’t even know where the hell you went.  So…it was probably Michael who got that feathered bastard out of your head._

_Yeah, Michael.  The one who’s been itchin’ to wear me to the prom pretty much since the day I was born.  Death wasn’t lettin’ me walk away from this one and I couldn’t just leave things in the shit-hole they were in.  So, he took me down the cage and I had a little chat with Michael.  Turns out angels aren’t too happy when you trick ‘em and get ‘em locked in the cage.  But he agreed to help out.  Made a contract with him to get everything fixed and I mean_ everything _.  I know angels don’t have the best track record and here I am trustin’ one again.  Guess I never learn, huh?  I put Michael on pretty good leash though, least I hope so.  Death’s the one holdin’ the rope so if he does against our agreement, he gets his ass punted back to the cage._

_He gave me twenty four hours to say goodbye, which was nowhere near enough time.  Course I said that and he came back with “would you rather have less?”  I tried to find you, but that damn angel in you hijacked you like a thousand miles away and just getting there took up most of my time._

_His name’s Gadreel, by the way.  Michael was up for ripping him a new one, agreed to purge him from you for no charge.  Turns out Gadreel’s kinda responsible for basically breaking the universe.  He’s the one who let Lucifer into the Garden of Eden.  I don’t know if Michael killed him or just ripped him out, probably the second.  The only way to kill him in you would be to kill you and that’s kinda against our terms and conditions.  He’s supposed to save you and heal you the right way, so whatever he says he needs to do to you, let him.  I know it’s gotta be weird as hell seeing him in my body and, to be honest, the thought makes my skin crawl.  But he ain’t gonna hurt you.  I’m not telling you exactly what he has to do, partly because he won’t let me.  He’s already in my head makin’ sure I don’t leave you guys any hints.  But I’m also not tellin’ you because I don’t want you tryin’ to get him to break the contract either._

_We both know I shoulda stayed dead after I went to hell.  And let me tell you, Death had some words for me after I made the deal with Michael.  That guy’s definitely not happy with us.  Me more than you._

_And, um…Gadreel did some things while he had you.  None of them were your fault and if you blame yourself for half a second, I swear to God, I will find a way to come back from wherever Michael threw me and kick your ass.  Gadreel did this shit, not you.  But he, uh, he killed a few people, I guess.  That’s what Michael says.  Three people and one of them was Kevin.  Probably why you haven’t seen him yet.  Cas gave him a hunter’s funeral already._

_I’d rather you guys stay near Michael.  Just to be safe, since we’re kinda on everyone’s shit list.  But I get it if you wanna take off and ditch him.  I… I know you’re not a kid anymore, ~~Sammy~~ Sam.  He’s kinda staked his claim on the bunker already, just a heads up, he’s probably nest up in here._

_I don’t know what else to say, I mean, you’re probably pissed at me for all this and I can’t blame you.  I’d be pissed as hell if you did something like this.   Just…don’t do anything I would do, okay?  That includes pissin’ off Michael.  See ya on the other side, bitch._

Sam rubbed his face, nodding to himself.  He wanted to be upset, to be pissed off at Dean.  Out of every selfish thing he’d done, or what Sam had seen as selfish, this had really taken the title.  Helping an angel hijack Sam, lying about it, and then just handing his own body over to an archangel?  Had he talked that out with _anyone_ or even thought it through?  At the very least, Michael had gotten Gadreel out of him without killing him.  Sam leaned back in his chair, folding his arms and keeping the letter held tightly in his hand.  He idly wondered if Cas’ letter was more or less the same, maybe he’d ask him later.

At the sound of a knock at the door, Sam looked up and saw Dea— Michael, that was going to be hard to get used to, coming in.  He was a little irritated the archangel had come in without invitation, it seemed a little ironic, but at least he’d had enough courtesy to knock and not just barge in.

“Come in to patch me up?” Sam guessed wearily.

Michael nodded, closing the distance between them and trying to hide his contempt for his brother’s vessel.  Sam didn’t miss the look.  He leaned away from D— _Michael’s_ hand when he reached out for him, earning a glare and slight snarl from the archangel.  Sam swallowed thickly, Dean had said he was bound to a contract to heal him; a contract held by Death.  He let out a breath and tensed his jaw, letting Michael put his hand to his forehead.  For a moment, there was nothing but a gentle wave of warmth.  Then it suddenly felt like he was being electrocuted.  Every fiber of his being, even the pieces of his mind, were being ripped apart, reattached and tightened beyond measure.  He screamed, buckling under the pain and clawing at Michael’s arm. 

Michael was unaffected by Sam’s reactions, continuing to flood him with the healing power of his grace until there wasn’t a single stigma left in Sam.  When it was gone, when he was perfectly healed, Michael withdrew his grace so quickly that Sam dropped to the bed, gasping for breath and curling in on himself; feeling numb in comparison to the heat of the grace.  Michael looked over him once, making sure he wasn’t going to pass out, before nodding to himself and spinning on his heels to leave.  He paused at the doorway.

“You may be angry at your brother for what he’s done,” Michael started, “But you should also be thanking him…for this.”

He didn’t wait for a response before disappearing down the hallway and leaving Sam to regain himself.

 

Nearly an hour had passed before Cas finally decided to open the letter.  He turned it around to gently tear it open.  He pulled the folded paper out, holding it like it was made of glass, and mechanically unfolded it.

 

_Cas—_

_I’m bettin’ you figured it out before Sam.  Michael probably didn’t try too hard to hide it, plus you’re pretty smart.  Still don’t get most of my jokes and I’m goddamn hilarious, but y’know._

_I’m willing to bet you’re just as pissed as Sam, maybe more.  You did beat my ass pretty hard last time I almost said yes.  That’s something I won’t ever forget.  If you’re wonderin’ why I didn’t tell you sooner, well… I wasn’t worried about another ass kicking, you’re human and you were drunk half the night.  I just didn’t know how.  You were all depressed about me dying and then got so happy when I came back, what was I supposed to say?  ‘Hey, I’m only here for a day and then I’m dead again’?  It’s not like anything I said would’ve sunk in.  It took forever to get you to realize I wasn’t some drunk hallucination._

_You looked so relaxed, well, still do.  You’re still out while I’m writing this.  For once, I’m the one watchin’ you sleep.  It’s a little creepy now, huh?  But, uh… I can sorta see why you did it so much.  Doesn’t change the fact it was weird though._

_Christ, this is gonna turn into a chick-flick moment, I better just get to the point.  Yeah, Michael’s runnin’ the show now.  He’s not gonna do anything to you, as much as he wants to.  Dude’s still mad about the holy fire Molotov.  We got a contract he can’t break otherwise he ends up back in the cage for some more quality family time with Lucifer.  I’m not telling you the details of it, Sam doesn’t know either, because I don’t want you guys tryin’ to trip him up.  Obviously, he doesn’t want that either, but hey.  The only thing I’m sayin’ is he’s gonna fix everything.  Stamp out that angel scuffle starting up, throw the pearly gates back open, drag Metatron down beat the shit outta him and Gadreel._

_That’s who was in Sam.  I’m guessin’ you already know who he is.  I guess when you’re responsible for fucking the entire planet, you don’t really want to own up to your name when you want a favor._

_Speaking of favors, I know I don’t have much room to be asking, but I want you and Sam to stay with Michael.  You already died once and it ain’t too fun, is it?  I know I make it look that way…Or Gabriel made it look that way.  You got some real dick brothers, you know that?  But seriously, you’ll probably be a hell of a lot safer if you stay near him.  He’s the biggest piece on the board now.  If you don’t want to, I get it.  It’s weird seein’ an angel piloting someone you know.  It made my friggin’ skin crawl when Lucifer had Sam.  And when the leviathans had you, that was just fucked up.  So, if you wanna strike it out on your own, and Sam probably will too, at least stay together, okay?  I don’t wanna see either one of you over here, wherever the hell Michael threw me, for a long time._

_I’m probably not even in Heaven, since it’s still locked up like Fort Knox.  So, I’m either in Hell or Purgatory.  Again.  To be honest, I don’t know which one I’d prefer.  Maybe Purgatory, less torturing and no tempting to become a torturer again.  And lot less sulfur smell, got enough of that in Hell and time with Sam on long car rides, good God...  Yeah, hopefully Purgatory then._

_Y’know what?  Fuck it, I’m dead by tonight so I may as well have a stupid chick-flick moment.  Not like you or Sam are gonna be able to give me grief about it, so here goes nothin’.  You always said we had a profound bond and, for a while, I just figured it just meant it was special because you pulled me outta the pit and put me back together.  Like I was your project or something.  And I kept tellin’ myself that because why would it mean anything more?  You were an angel of the lord.  Understanding and compassion and…love and all that crap wasn’t in your hard wiring.  But we started gettin’ to ya, huh?  Didn’t take long to get you to pull your head outta your ass and start question things and feeling things.  And you kept saying we had a profound bond.  And I started thinking that maybe…just maybe it was more than just being your little trophy from a raid in hell._

_But I had to keep reminding myself you were still an angel of the lord.  Swingin’ that way is pretty against rules.  I know you said you guys were genderless, but you know what I mean.  Plus, why would you…why would you love me?  I fucked up more times than I can count, even before hell.  I know I’m not worth it.  So, I just never said anything.  I didn’t want to fuck that up too._

_And I was gonna tell you, actually tell you, not write it out like some final love letter or whatever.  But, I just…I couldn’t.  I was still afraid that you didn’t feel the same or some part of your brain was still runnin’ on angel programming so you wouldn’t feel it.  Better to let a sleeping dog lay, right?  Guess I’ll see ya on the otherside then, huh?_

_And, um…_

_I…love you._

 

“He really did, you know.”

Cas snapped his head up, seeing Michael leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed.  Cas quickly wiped away the two trails of drying tears on his face; he hadn’t even realized he’d been crying till just then.  Michael rolled his eyes, looking away and giving Cas a minute to try to compose himself.

“What are you talking about?” Cas asked.

The look Michael gave him was a bitchface in a class of its own.

“I was in Dean’s mind for the last twenty-four hours, I know everything he knew and felt,” Michael deadpanned.

Cas dipped his head.

“If ever anyone was accused of having too much heart, it’s the Righteous Man.  His feelings have saturated this body…” Michael mused.

“Mi—“

“Thought you should know,” Michael snipped, “Before they’re washed away.”

Michael pushed off the door frame, moving silently down the hallway.  Cas stared at the doorway.  Nothing had compelled Michael to tell him that, nothing Cas knew of, anyway.  It could’ve been in his contract with Dean, but he doubted it.  Perhaps the ‘saturated feelings’ in Dean’s body had pushed him to tell Cas.  He thought on it a moment longer before deciding he really didn’t care what had made Michael say it.  He turned his attention back down the letter in his hands, his eyes scanning over the last four words again.  Cas huffed, blinking back tears.  _Seriously, man?  With the water works?  C’mon._   Cas shook his head with a weak smile; they did share a profound bond, one Death seemed either unable to or was merciful enough not to sever completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a hard time writing their letters, like i started to upset myself a little...  
> but what's that? only two more chapters left? ;_;


	20. Terms and Conditions

_43 hours earlier_

 

Dean found himself staring dumbly down at his own body.  It only took him a minute to realize that he was dying.  Not the kind you could maybe come back, but actually dying.  That’s why he was already outside his body.  But the nurses and doctor didn’t seem to realize he was a lost cause.  They were still trying to cool his body temperature, to get his heart beating faster, everything they could to bring him back.  He sighed, running a hand down his face and glancing around.  He caught sight of Cas, standing on the other side of the door. 

Dean had never seen the former angel so torn looking.  He could see his chest heaving in an attempt to keep himself somewhat calm, which was failing.  The tears brimming and glistening in blue eyes.  The color draining from his face.  Dean could almost read every thought on Cas’ face.  He bit his lip, quickly tearing his gaze from Cas and looking back to his own body.  Maybe he could come back to them.  He’d been in this situation, almost exactly, nearly nine years ago.  Dean shook his head, the only reason he’d pulled through then was because John had given up his life to Azazel and he’d be damned if he let anyone do anything like that again.

“Hello, Dean.”

The smooth, even voice had come as no surprise to Dean.

“So, the big guy’s comin’ to get me, huh?” Dean laughed dryly.

“You do have a way of tricking and escaping my reapers,” Death commented, “What’s the saying?  ‘If you want a job done right, do it yourself’?”

Dean nodded with a sigh.  He didn’t bother looking up at Death, he just stared numbly down at his body.  Death made no move to take Dean, he was waiting for Dean to try something.  Despite the shouts of nurses and wailing machines, a long minute of silence passed between the two of them. 

“So, what?  This is it?  I get a little sick and it’s lights out?” Dean mumbled.

“If this is your definition of ‘a little sick’, then yes.”

“…What was it?”

“Meningoencephalitis.  The doctor was correct, but he could not have known about its modification that Sam discovered.”

“…”

“No remark on that?”

“Not really, no…” Dean shrugged.

“I must say, you aren’t putting up near as much of a fight as I expected.”

“Yeah, well…I’ve fucked up enough.”

Death narrowed his eyes at Dean.  It never ceased to irritate him how little Dean respected or credited himself.  Death gave a silent huff, setting his jaw.

“You should give yourself more credit, Dean Winchester.  You’ve saved more people than you know and prevented catastrophic disaster.  More than once,” Death reminded him.

Dean perked up a bit at that.  Death could see the gears turning in the hunter’s mind, trying to come up with some kind of ploy.  He allowed himself a small smile and waited for Dean to act.

“…Don’t take me.  Not yet, anyways.”

“Oh?”

“I…I think I know how to fix this.”

“Quite the turnaround there.”

“Shut up.  Just…I need you to do me a favor.  Last time I’ll ask, I swear.”

Now it was Death who perked up.  Asking a favor, that was no surprise.  That was all Dean ever wanted.  But swearing that it would be the last one?  He’d at least hear the man out on this.  Death turned and sat down in the chair, looking up at Dean with interested eyes.  He waved his hand for Dean to make his offer.  Dean shifted his weight, tentatively licking his lips before meeting Death’s gaze.

“Take me to the cage,” Dean stated, “To…Lucifer’s cage.”

Death stared at him, his eyes reading over Dean’s face in search of a hint that this was a joke or distraction or something of the sort.  All he saw was complete seriousness.  Death tilted his head in puzzlement.

“And why do you want to go there?” Death inquired.

“Told you, I think I know how to fix this,” Dean replied.

“Yes, I know you did,” Death snipped, “But you’re going to have to explain yourself further before I decide whether or not to take you to such a place.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, glancing at his body, then at Cas before looking at Death.  He swallowed thickly, taking in a shaky breath.

“I wanna talk to Michael,” Dean said firmly.

“If you think Michael can save you fr—“

“No,” Dean interrupted, “Not me.  But…he could save everyone else.  If he agrees and you let him out.”

If Dean had piqued Death’s interest before, the age-old Grim Reaper was now practically swimming in curiosity.  He leaned forward, hands folded over his cane, and studied Dean further.  Along with never ceasing to annoy him, the hunter would also never cease to surprise him.  Death stood, brushing his jacket straight before looking Dean dead in the eyes.

“Very well, this is a discussion I would very much like to hear,” Death said.

Dean flinched when the room around him began to move.  Everything started bleeding up and becoming distorted as colors darkened.  He looked around frantically as objects became too stretched and darkened to identify, and suddenly found himself searching for Cas.  He could see him, just barely, at what felt like fifteen feet above him. 

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean mumbled.

The shrill sound of flat-lining monitors filled his ears, informing him he was now officially dead as everything around him turned pitch black.  At some point, the floor, or whatever he was actually standing on, disappeared from beneath his feet.  He panicked, but only for a moment.  It didn’t feel like he was rapidly falling into anything, just sort of slowly drifting down.  With nothing to see or feel, he had absolutely no sense of time.  For all he knew, he could’ve been drifting for five minutes or three hours.  It certainly felt more like the latter.  Dean grumbled inwardly, something about this taking too long or Death lying to him.  Just as he opened his mouth to snap at Death, a soft orange light blossomed below him.

His feet touched down on something hard and rough.  The dim light illuminated the ground enough for him to see it was dry, cracked and well blazed by furious fires.  The orange light wavered before it slowly began to brighten.  The orange turned to a slightly darker, smoky color and gave way to sulfuric yellows and dark, smoldering reds.  The light continued to expand, showing him more of the abused ground; parts deformed by rising stalagmites reaching to meet the stalactites hanging from…well, he would guess some kind of ceiling or roof, but the light couldn’t reach high enough to illuminate it.

The scent of smoke, sulfur and burning bodies began to permeate the air as he felt the temperature rising around him.  The screams of tortured souls and demons’ amusements were muffled in the distance; he was far removed from any of the nine circles of Hell.  Despite that, he took an uneasy step backwards, his foot dragging across the rough ground and making a light scratching sound with the loose bits of stone.  He nearly jumped out of his skin when his bumped into another body.

“Sometimes I wonder how it is so many monsters fear you,” Death commented dryly.

“Sorry if I’m a little jumpy in Hell,” Dean bit, “Not exactly everyone’s favorite down here.”

“No, you aren’t,” Death agreed, “But you’ve no reason to worry.  Nothing dares to tread near here.”

Death turned his attention towards a massive, arched stony wall nearly twenty yards away.  The portion of the wall, which Dean guessed must’ve been the front, was indented with two large, heavy, metal doors.

“That’s the cage?” Dean asked.

Death nodded.

“Kinda thought it’d be more…I dunno, like a cage?”

“With bars?” Death suggested.

“…Yeah.”

“Be honest with yourself Dean, would you be comfortable if Lucifer were able to simply reach through the bars and just picking the seals off?”

Dean gaped a few times, trying and failing to come up with a comeback.  That was an extremely good point.  He just huffed and glared at the ‘cage’ that was really more of dome.  The wall turned in a wide circle, almost giving the illusion that it went straight forever.  It arched back, giving it a dome appearance, but its top was also far too high to be illuminated by the glow of the hell fires around them.

Dean straightened up and began walking towards the cage with determined steps.  Portions of the wall were scorched, but otherwise intact.  The ground gave a short quake beneath him, causing him to pause and look around for any signs of danger.  He didn’t see any and the expression Death wore told him there was no cause for concern.  He hesitated, but continued forward, though this time at a more tentative pace.  The metal doosr was set deep into the wall, at least thirty feet in, and towered above him.  It was decorated with a number of seals, all various shapes and sizes; some untouched, some cracked.

A handful of the cracked seals he recognized, along with the untouched ones.  The ones untouched were the ones he and Sam had managed to save.  The cracked ones, those were where they failed.  There were hundreds of seals in either condition.  Dean distantly remember Cas telling him there were hundreds, but only sixty six needed to be broken.  The only seals that mattered were the first and the last; the two massive ones resting on the center line of the doors.  The top one bore a heavy, deep crack diagonally across it.  Even still, the pressed image on it was still very clear.  It was a silhouette of him, torture instruments in hand and turning to a victim on the rack.  It was his fault.  His fault that deep crack spread from the first seal like bolts of lightning to the other seals.  He eyes followed a few paths leading away from the first seal.       

All the paths came back around to the seal just below his own.  The second seal held a silhouette of Sam, arm outstretch and exorcising Lilith.  That was his fault too.  If he’d handled things with Sam differently then, maybe they wouldn’t have had that fight that split them up just long enough for Ruby to snatch him away to the church.

“Lamenting over past mistakes will make no difference now,” Death spoke.

“Yeah, I know, it’s just…” Dean sighed, “Just seeing that this is all because of me—“

Dean was interrupted by the ground quaking fiercely, dropping Dean to his hands and knees, and the wall to the left splitting wide open.  It gaped open for only a millisecond, not even letting him see within it, before a bright yellow light flashed from within it and sealed the fracture up.  The ground continued to tremble a minute longer before stilling, ash and tiny pebbles rolling down the curved face of the wall.

“What the fuck was that?!” Dean yelled.

“It seems Michael and Lucifer are at it once more,” Death noted.

“What?!” Dean barked.

“Surely, you didn’t think they would just sit in there peacefully?” Death asked.

There was another quake, this time gentler and Dean saw no cracks tear across the wall before being patched up.  The two archangels must’ve collided in another of the cage further away from the door.  It finally occurred to Dean that they weren’t on Earth, the two titans didn’t need vessels to hold themselves.  If he went in there to talk to Michael, he wouldn’t be seeing poor Nick and his body falling apart in a wrestling match with Adam— Fuck, Adam.  He was probably locked up inside the cage with the archangels.  Another thing Dean now blamed himself for.  He had to focus and brace himself for unchained angels in their true forms; or something frighteningly close to their true forms. 

“I will let you into the cage and separate the two of them so that you can speak without interruption,” Death said.

He strode past Dean, standing and dusting himself off, and went right to the door.  He tapped the end of his cane to the bottom of the door and dragged it up.  The way the door warped and bent made it seem almost like a curtain that he was lifting.  He turned his head back to Dean and nodded to the burning light that poured out of the small opening.  Dean hesitated, thinking maybe this was another horrible decision and that he should abandon it.  He’d wrecked enough things thinking he was doing the right thing.  No.  He was definitely doing the right thing now, the thing he should’ve done four years ago.  Dean reminded himself that if Michael didn’t agree to what he wanted, he could still say no and then nothing would change.  Michael might keep him in the cage if he refused, but at least things on the surface wouldn’t get any worse by Dean’s hand.  Plus, if he did get locked in, he’d be able to protect Adam from the warring angels.  There were no flaws in this plan, none that Dean could see.

He walked past Death into the changing, a sense of dread filling him as the makeshift door dropped with a resonating sound.  Though, the sound was barely audible above the roars of hellfire and archangels.  Unlike outside the cage, where Dean could only see glows of the hellfire in the distance, the flames inside the cage flared across the ground, licking up the walls and shooting up through cracks at random times.  He scrambled back, shielding his face, when fire rushed up only a few feet in front of him.  He stumbled and fell back on his ass, dazed and blinking away the brightness.  When he looked up, he could see two dark shadows— no, silhouettes fighting each other.  Michael and Lucifer.  And they were nothing what Dean would have expected.

Perhaps, if Dean would’ve read the Bible a little more, Lucifer wouldn’t have surprised him.  De-feathered, bat-like wings outstretched, vicious claws swinging, rows of sharpened fangs snapping, tail lashing around, breath of fire scorching the ground— The red dragon.  Not the ones trying to pose as people, but an honest to God dragon.  Dean’s eyes darted to his opponent, Michael.  He was another ‘mythical’ creature like Lucifer, but thankfully one Dean had never had the misfortune of dealing with.  The manticore’s body coiled with force that burst forth in slashing claws, powerful bites, strikes with his wings and attempted stings with his barbed tail.  It was impossible to say who was winning, or who was on the offense more.  Both archangels were evenly matched, frequently sinking claws and fangs into each other, wrestling to the ground and throwing the other off; usually into the wall of the cage.

This was definitely an awful idea.

Dean looked around for any sign of Death; he’d promised to separate the two warring angels.  There was no way in Hell Dean would ever even hope to do so.  Dean watched as Michael smoothly evaded a torrent of fire and followed it up by striking Lucifer in the face with a wing, dazing the dragon before a heavy paw came across his face and slammed it to the ground; sending fractures, lit with hellfire and reparative energy, scattering across the ground

“Hey, uh…D-Death?” Dean called out.

Despite the deafening noise in the cage, both archangels heard Dean and turned their heads towards him.  He never felt such utter terror in his entire life.  Lucifer squirmed from beneath Michael’s hold, wings flaring as he charged for Dean.  A panicked, fearful yelp escaped Dean and he turned for the door, grabbing and clawing at it desperately.  Michael reacted quickly, pouncing on Lucifer from behind with enough force to bring the dragon the ground once more with a rippling quake.  In a second bound, the titanic manticore landed in front of Dean, sending another minor quake through the ground and turning his back on the human.  Michael crouched low to the ground, ready for his brother to get to his feet and launch another attack.  The dragon rose with an indignant growl and started forward, only to rear back when the ground between them split.  Both angels stared at in confusion as a heavy sheet of stone began to rise from it.  Lucifer, deciding his grudge with Michael was of more importance than the new rising wall, ran to leap over it before it became too high.  Michael met him with the same motion, stopping him at the wall’s edge.  The two caught and held onto each other, hanging over the wall and gnashing fangs as their hind legs scrambled against the stone in an effort to aid their wings in getting them over the edge.

The wall continued to rise, pulling the archangels up to the darkened, seemingly limitless ceiling.  A few more seconds and Michael lost his hold on Lucifer, falling from the edge.  He flailed only for a second before righting himself and landing hard on his feet, sending tremors strong enough to knock Dean off balance.  A heart beat later, an aftershock followed; Lucifer hitting the ground on the other side.  Michael eyed the wall cautiously, ears twitching in suspicion before the tension slowly began to ease out of his muscles.  He relaxed, shaking the remaining tension from his body and lowered his head to Dean.  Titanic was barely a fitting word, Dean was barely as tall as the manticore’s muzzle.

“What have you done now?” Michael growled.

The way his mouth moved was odd, but it was to be expected if understandable words were to come from the mouth of a lion.  Dean staggered back a few steps, weakly raising his arms and giving his most innocent ‘nothing’ face.  Michael huffed, making Dean take another step back, and settled down onto his stomach, folding his forepaws and wings.

“Once again, Death has seen fit to interrupt our fight on your behalf,” Michael sneered, “What have you done?  What do you so desperately want, that you have come here yourself?”

“I-I, uh…” Dean stammered.

“What’s the matter?  Scared?” Michael teased.

“I wouldn’t say ‘scared’, um…maybe ‘terrified’,” Dean laughed nervously.

Michael hummed, a smile playing at his features.

“But, uh, y-you’re right, there is something I want,” Dean continued.

Michael sighed, a little dramatically, and rolled his eyes.

“Hey, if you do me these— these little favors—“

“You want more than one thing?”

“Yeah, but they’re easy,” Dean replied quickly, “Especially for something like you.”

Michael shook his head, already annoyed, but waited for Dean to continue.

“And, hey, if you do ‘em, you get what you always wanted,” Dean gave a half smile.

That had Michael’s attention.  He looked over Dean for any sign of yet another trick; he’d been baited before and he was not going to let it happen again.  The hunter was nervous, obviously, but he couldn’t see any trace of treachery in him.

“What do you want?” Michael repeated, with less accusation.

“Well, um…” Dean took in a ragged breath, “Here’s the thing, basically everything is fucked topside.”

The manticore seemed unphased.  He probably thought the same thing, though not in so many words, for the past few centuries.

“Like…Heaven’s closed for business,” Dean elaborated.

“What?” Michael roared.

Dean blanched, pressing himself against the wall as Michael moved closer.

“Y-yeah, Met—Metatron kinda played us, pretty damn good.”

Dean wasn’t going to implicate Cas specifically.  He knew Michael was already angry with him and he didn’t want to give the archangel another reason.  Plus, Dean honestly thought it was his fault just as much.

“He said he was g-gonna help fix Heaven, but the place kinda went nuts with no one to lead ‘em,” Dean explained, “And, y’know, God’s scribe so he’d know what he’s doing right?”

“ _God’s scribe_ ,” Michael seethed, “Ran from his _imprisonment_ for _treason_ and _conspiracy_ against God with Gadreel.”

“Yeah, see, didn’t exactly know that,” Dean defended, “And, uh, he did all the trials or whatever, got the ingredients for his spell and now every angel is on Earth and really startin’ to mess shit up.”

“You’ve handle apocalyptic situations before, why do you need me?” Michael sneered.

“I’m…” Dean sucked in a breath, “I’m kinda dead.  Permanently.  No more get outta jail cards.”

“So, you thought to offer your body to me in exchange for cleaning up your disaster,” Michael summed, settling back down.

“B-Basically, and a couple other things,” Dean murmured.

“Such as?”

“I need you to fix my brother, Sam.”

“And why would I want to repair Lucifer’s vessel?  And if I may, what’s wrong with him?”

“He was doin’ the trials to shut Hell, but I…I didn’t let him finish.  I didn’t want him to die,” Dean replied, “So I stopped him and it messed him up.  Real bad.  Like he was dying anyway, so I panicked and asked for help.”

Michael narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“And I got it.  Angel said his name was Ezekiel and he promised to heal Sam while he was healin’ himself, but Sam didn’t know.  And then Ezekiel ended up not being Ezekiel, but that guy died when the angels fell.  So now some jackass is runnin’ around in my brother with some secret agenda, threatening to kill Sam if he leaves.”

“What makes you think I can do anything about that?” Michael questioned.

“You’re an archangel, I kinda figured normal rules don’t exactly apply to you,” Dean replied hopefully.

Michael gave a slight smile.  Dean was right; normal rules didn’t apply to not-normal angels.

“So, expel this angel and heal Sam.  I sense there is something else you want?” Michael suggested.

“Yeah, um…Keep Sam and Cas safe,” Dean stated.

The archangel tilted his head.

“Shit’s bad and everyone’s got it out for us, so if you could keep them safe.  At least, from dying, I’d, uh…I’d really appreciate it…”

“Surprisingly mild terms,” Michael hummed, “And what of you?”

“Whatever you want,” Dean offered, “But if Sam or Cas dies, or get hurt in some way you could’ve prevented, you get dragged right back here.”

Michael leaned back a bit, a contemplative growl rumbling through him.  Keeping two people alive would take next to no effort, it would just be annoying.  But it would be especially easy since he had the power to revive them, should anything happen to them.  Reopening Heaven would take some effort, but he was more than confident he could do it.  That, along with reigning the angels back under control.  And he do whatever he wanted with Dean’s soul. 

“Hm…”

Dean fidgeted nervously.

“Very well,” Michael agreed.

“And I want to say my goodbyes,” Dean added.

“More requests?” Michael sounded slightly annoyed.

“C’mon, have a heart,” Dean gave another half-smile.

“…Twenty-four hours.”

“What?  What if that’s not enough?  I mean, hell, I don’t even know where S—“

“Would you rather have less?” Michael snapped.

“No!  No, God, no,” Dean replied quickly.

“Twenty-four hours, then,” Michael concluded, “And I’ll be with you.”

Dean couldn’t hide the look of offense on his face.  The last twenty-four hours of his life and he couldn’t even have any privacy.  Michael gave him a warning glare, one that threatened to shorten Dean’s end of the deal if he objected again.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean huffed, “Fine.”

Michael’s lips pulled into a smug grin, curling over sharp teeth.  Dean swallowed down the unease, watching the manticore push to his feet.  A deep, muffled rumble emanated through the wall; Lucifer’s objection.  Michael gave the wall a tired glare as two more thoughts hit Dean.  He requests were few and simple, two more couldn’t hurt.

“Two more things,” Dean spoke up.

Michael gave Dean a look of sheer annoyance and Dean nearly decided against what he was going to ask.

“What?” Michael bit.

“You can’t help lizard-ass—“

An angered roar pushed past the wall along with a vicious strike against it.

“Lucifer,” Dean corrected himself, “You can’t help him get out.  No apocalypse.  I’m not sayin’ go outta your way to stop him, if it happens, it happens.  But if you see somethin’ going on that helps him?  You stop it.”

Dean would be damned if Michael went and found a way to spring Lucifer from the cage as well to have their apocalyptic show down.  He wasn’t asking Michael to fix everything and save everyone only for him and his brother to destroy it all.  And he definitely wasn’t asking Michael to heal Sam just for Lucifer to pluck up.  Michael’s jaw flexed, but he let out an exasperated sigh.

“And the other?” Michael grumbled.

“Adam,” Dean stated, “You get the kid outta here.  He’s supposed to be up in Heaven, livin’ it  up at his prom with some pretty girl.  Not down here, tryin’ to survive you two.”

“That may not happen for a while,” Michael said.

Dean opened his mouth to object, but Michael raised a paw to silence him.

“You said yourself, Heaven is sealed,” Michael clarified, “He will be trapped in the veil until I can correct your mistakes.”

“Fair enough,” Dean agreed.

The veil was better than the cage.  Crowded with souls unable to ascend was preferred to being trapped in hellfire with two archangels.  Dean nodded, spreading his arms and glancing around.  Thanks to the wall, this portion of the cage was almost perfectly calm; save for Lucifer now throwing a temper tantrum on the otherside.  He didn’t know what happened now, he supposed that was up to Death.  Dean gave a nervous laugh a few seconds later when the cage doors were still sealed. 

“Hey, uh, Death?” Dean called, “You…wanna beam us outta here now?”

“You have little patience,” Death drawled, appearing beside Dean, “It does take a little more effort to escort _one_ archangel out of the cage than it does a human soul.”

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled.

Death eyed before turning on his heels and tapping his cane to the inside of the metal doors.  The doors shuttered and slowly began to grind open, groaning and wailing in protest at the movement.  Dean started for the door, having Michael surge past him eagerly.  Death followed them out last, ensuring the doors closed completely and were resealed again. 

Dean tried to regain control of his breathing as the lights of Hell began to dim.  Death was taking him, and Michael, back up to the surface for his last twenty four hours.  He should’ve made this decision years ago, with these terms, then this whole situation would’ve been avoided.  He was doing the right thing now, for once.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy hell this is a big chapter...so big it's gonna run over into the next (and last) chapter...that will probably also be very big.  
> but Michael seems pretty agreeable, yeah? ;)


	21. Epilogue: The End

Michael hadn’t said anything on the way to the bunker, but Dean could feel him buzzing with excitement within his skull.  He had to keep reminding himself this was the right thing to do and, anytime he did that, Michael’s excitement seemed to quell just a bit to something almost soothing.  He was trusting this angel _,_ an archangel no less, not to find a way to fuck him over like every other angel had.  Dean could swear the wind was gently caressing his skin to ease his worry.  If that really was the case, and it was Michael’s doing, then he might have the archangel all wrong.  Though that could be the fault of the angels that had worked under him; namely Zachariah.  Dean grimaced at the memory, he was glad he’d stabbed him through the skull.  Michael seemed indifferent.

It wasn’t until Dean had reached the bunker that Michael became more active.  For a split second, curiosity bloomed within him, like a child in a toy shop.  But no more than two steps in had that curiosity vanished, replaced with rage.  Rage that made Dean want to retreat and hide in his own mind.

_What set you off?_

_I know the angel in your brother._

_How?_

_There are traces of his grace still flitting about._

_Well, who is it then?_

_That guy you said was scheming with Metatron?_

Michael’s words seethed with anger and a wordless promise to tear the angel apart.  That hadn’t been a part of their agreement, but Michael was taking the initiative and Dean wasn’t going to stop him.  So long as Sam lived, Michael could do whatever he wanted to Gadreel.  He deserved it for playing Dean and killing Kevin.  And, more or less, killing Dean as well.  He had the power to heal him, made the offer, but never did.

He could practically feel Michael pacing angrily, especially when Dean evidently passed through some trace of grace.  Gadreel wasn’t in the bunker anymore, Michael could tell that much.  He urged Dean to track him down, trying to convince by saying his time would be better maximized by finding Sam first because who knows where he went.  Michael was still disconnected from the angel radio and coming back in so suddenly would certainly cause mass hysteria among the angels.  Plus, even if he did reestablish contact, word of his return would spook Gadreel into staying even farther from contact with the angels.

But as much as Dean wanted to find Sam, he thought his time would be better used saying goodbye to someone already there.  Upon finding Cas drunk in his room, Dean’s panic and concern pushed Michael aside for a moment.

_“Cas?!” Dean barked, shaking him, “Cas, buddy, c’mon!”_

Even Michael’s dislike for the former angel had waivered.  Yes, he was responsible for dissuading Dean from saying yes.  Yes, Castiel had molotov’d him with holy fire.  Yes, he had committed blasphemy.  Yes, he was responsible for Heaven shutting down.  _He didn’t know!_ But to have such guilt on his shoulders, his grace stolen and wings ripped off…  Michael thought a quick death would be more humane and fair.  Michael kept his back turned, metaphorically of course, as Dean had to convince the drunken man he was alive.  He could sense the deep bond between the two of them, how many times it had fractured; more recently broken.  And it was going to break again.

He remained silent for an hour or so before he began snipping and nagging at Dean to move on, reminding him he was on a time limit.  The hunter was perfectly aware of that, but he was not saying his goodbyes if he didn’t think Cas would remember them when he woke up.  Dean had remained by Cas’ side until Michael’s incessant reminders and urges had gotten to be too much.  That’s when he’d gotten up and just started cleaning up the bunker; he needed a distraction from Michael.

Finally realizing Dean wasn’t going to listen, and he should have expected that, Michael fell silent again.  He stewed silently in the corner of Dean’s mind, allowing him privacy as he decided to leave notes for Sam and Cas.  Because Michael had been right, he was running out of time and he wanted them to know what happened.  Michael had peeked over, making sure Dean wasn't leaving some kind of code on how to trip Michael up and have Death drag him back to the pit.  Dean was borderline offended, he understood where the angel was coming from, but still.  His hands were trembling as he sealed the letters in their envelopes, barely managing to scrawl the names on them.

When morning came and Cas awoke, Michael resumed his chattering about leaving.  Dean had inwardly rolled his eyes, but complied.  It took him only a minute or two to find where Gadreel had gone.  Another to find keys to a decent enough car. 

_Of course, you would pick another Impala._

_Shut up._

Once again, Dean could feel Michael pacing with anticipation.  He tried to ignore it, trying to stay focused on not wrecking the car.  Even Dean had to admit he was impressed by the well flowing traffic and only having been pulled over twice, both of which took very little time.  If it weren’t for the archangel riding shotgun in his head, he’d say it was dumb luck.

They’d arrived outside the house Gadreel was in.  Michael had given him the specific address, sensing a stronger trace of the traitorous angel’s grace.  Dean was nervous.  He was scared.  He was _terrified_.  This was it, he had less than five minutes and now he was arguing with Cas?

_“You’re staying here.”_

_“Dean—“_

_“I mean it, Cas.”_

_“Why?”_

Cas’ confused, hurt face was the last thing Dean had wanted as memory of him.  Maybe he should have listened to Michael and left when Cas was drunk and content still.  There was no time left to fix it.  He pleaded the former angel to stay put, hardly making an effort to hide the desperation in his voice.  Cas had reluctantly agreed and Dean had all but run to the house.  Michael became restless when Dean set foot in the house.  Anger seeped into his muscles upon seeing Gadreel.  He tried to reason with the angel, even _begged_ him to let him just say one last thing to Sam.  He made his last effort, hoping and praying that his words had somehow made it to Sam.

Michael, who’d been so kind as to keep reminding him of his remaining time, then promptly informed him that his time was up.  Dean had thought it would hurt; the heat flash that had torn through his body, immediately followed by a chill had suggested it.  But it hadn’t hurt.  The following chill had eased him into a sort of slumber that helped him to let go.  As the light faded out from him, there was a brief moment he shared his sight with Michael.  The archangel had slammed his hand to Gadreel’s face, barely controlled anger at the angel nearly causing him to break the skull.  Had it not been for Dean’s sudden, weak reminder of Michael going back to Hell if anything happened to Sam, he would have crushed the body to nothing but a paste.

It was also that reminder that had kept him rooted in place, rather than chasing after Gadreel to tear him apart.  If he gave chase, Sam would die, he’d be back in the cage and Dean would be dead.  Not only would it do no good, but it would actually do harm.  Archangels once again off the board, the two most feared and strongest hunters dead, no one knowing about Gadreel’s escape (as Cas had yet to discover who it was within Sam).

Michael gave a short, irritated snarl before quickly tending to Sam.  He healed him enough to repair the cracks in the skull that had started to form and enough to stop him from dying.  He would finish healing him later, he was too agitated at the moment; Dean had really undersold him on how damaged Sam was.  He could still heal him, of course, it was just that fact he hadn’t anticipated tending to him immediately.

He’d carried Sam out, given short answers to Cas and remained silent the whole ride back to the bunker.  Unlike Cas, Michael did know how to drive, thanks to Dean’s memories.  Cas would know from Jimmy’s, if Jimmy had ever learned.  Apparently, he’d preferred public transportation.

At the bunker, Michael had laid Sam down to rest.  He would finish healing him once he woke up.  Without a word to Cas, he disappeared off down the hall.  Michael had no complaints about his vessel’s body, not a one.  But the agonizing illness and subsequent death had left Dean looking a little worse for wear.  He took a shower, thoroughly scrubbing himself down and had then decided Dean’s hair had gotten just a bit too long.  He cut it down to about what it was four years ago; when he was supposed to take Dean.  Michael’s grace had tended to the rest, healing up scars, erasing fatigue, repairing internal injuries and just essentially restoring Dean’s body to perfect condition; save for the handprint.                

When it came to healing the handprint on Dean’s shoulder, he hesitated.  It was a brand, a _claim_ by another angel.  Dean’s was his, Dean had been made for him and no one else.  Yet, Castiel had dared claim Dean.  He raised his hand to the mark, ever so lightly touching and felt a shock course through his body, unleashing a flood of emotions deep set within Dean’s body.  It had caught him off guard and momentarily overwhelmed, there was no way he would’ve known that would happen.  He staggered back, staring at his own reflection in surprise.  He dared to touch the handprint again, only to have the same reaction come down on him with no loss of power.  Michael wasn’t stupid enough to do it a third time, he’d gotten the message; the mark was staying.

He grimaced and glared down at it.  How dare he be subject to a _lesser angel’s_ mark.  He belonged to no one.  Michael clenched his jaw.  He might not be able to get rid of it, but he was sure as hell going to hide it.  The mark was only superficial, no supernatural being would ever detect it so long as he kept it hidden.

He retrieved Dean’s letters from him room and returned to the main hall and found both Sam and Cas sitting there.  It was his intent to simply give them the letters and return to his room.  But they’d began questioning him almost the second they saw him.  He tried to give them short answers and use the diction Dean would use, but he couldn’t say he was particularly fond of it.  And, apparently, Sam and Cas had sensed the underlying displeasure.  Then all it took was for Cas to bark at him like he was Dean, like he was a _human_.  He snapped, throwing aside all personal space and getting in Cas’ face to set him right.  Castiel had always been a bit of a problem child.

Cas’ frightened face and the tugging sensation from Dean’s body reigned him back and made him realize what he’d done.  He composed himself and handed them their letters.  It took Cas maybe all of a minute to recognize his handwriting on the envelopes; he’d decided Dean’s was too messy.  When Cas had realized it was him, he could barely hold his pride.  Cas was looking at him with a mixture of fear and respect.  The way archangels should be looked upon, in Michael’s opinion.  With his back turned as he walked away, he practically preened at Cas’ expression.

Still, he gave them their privacy and wandered around the bunker for a short while.  He hadn’t exactly gotten a tour of the place with Dean and had only his memories to go by.  It was a fascinating place and he had every intention of making it his home as well.  Dean had figured he would.  In all his exploring, he’d ended up in some places twice.  Among the first of these occurrences, he’d come to stand outside Sam’s room.  Michael gave a knock at the door to see if Sam was inside, but didn’t bother waiting for a response.

_“Come in to patch me up?”_

That hadn’t exactly been the plan, but Sam seemed well enough now and he may as well get it out of the way.  He nodded and closed the distance, pressing a healing hand to Sam and ignoring the cries of pain.  Of course it was going to hurt, he had every intention to repair all the damage done in the span a minute or so.  The sight of Sam gasping for air on the bed, curling in on himself in pain tugged at Michael.  Well, more so at the body he wore.  Taking care of Sam was so deeply ingrained in Dean that Michael had to admit he was a little shocked.  It was like Heaven’s orders engraved into an angel’s mind but much less easily swayed.

_“You may be angry at your brother for what he’s done.  But you should also be thanking him…for this.”_

He wasn’t sure what prompted him to say that, maybe it was the emotions that had flooded him just a short while ago.  But he knew Sam would be furious with his brother and he knew Dean knew that.  It was a sacrifice and Michael wasn’t going to let Sam stomp on it.

Michael left without another word, continuing on wandering the halls before coming to stop outside Dean’s room, now his own by default.  The door was more open than he’d left it and he was certain there was no draft that strong in the bunker.  He saw Cas sitting on the bed, stray tears making their way down his face.  He knew which part of the letter Cas had just read; he’d taken a peek at it as Dean was writing it to see what had caused the hunter so much sudden turmoil.

_“He really did, you know.”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“I was in Dean’s mind for the last twenty-four hours, I know everything he knew and felt.  If ever anyone was accused of having too much heart, it’s the Righteous Man.  His feelings have saturated this body…”_

_“Mi—“_

_“Thought you should know.  Before they’re washed away.”_

He was going to find a way to wash the influence of emotions out.  He hadn’t even been in possession of Dean’s body for a day yet and they were already having such an influence on him.  That was unacceptable.  Michael turned and left before the emotions prompted him to say anything further.

Eventually, he’d made his way down a dusty hallway lined with storage rooms.  One looked like it was actually being used, its lack of a light dusty coating giving it away.  He threw open the door, curiously looking up and down the shelves of boxes and file cabinets.  There didn’t appear to be much, but he felt something more in the room.  Michael frowned and looked around again, finding deep and arched scratch marks on the floor.  The shelves opened up there.  He took hold of the metal bars and pulled.

“Ah, Moose, older brother still si—  Oh.”

Crowley sat back, blinking in surprise upon seeing who he thought was still Dean.

“Someone’s looking better,” Crowley mocked, “All over your little cold?”

“What are you doing here?” Michael snapped.

“What am I— _You_ locked me in here, genius,” Crowley bit, “Or did you have another dizzy spell, hit your head and forget?”

Michael’s lip twitched in annoyance.  Just like Cas, Crowley was talking at him like he was Dean.  No respect, no fear.  At the change in Michael’s stance and expression, Crowley quickly noticed something was off.  Michael stepped forward, letting his grace fill the dungeon and let Crowley now just who he was talking to as he rested his hands on the table and leaned forward.

“Oh dear God…” Crowley murmured.

“My father won’t be helping you,” Michael warned lowly, “Don’t waste your breath on him.”

“What are you going to do?”

Crowley held his tongue, careful not to call him something along the lines of ‘feather brain’.  He was trapped, chained up and powerless with an archangel less than five feet from him.  It was best not to upset him more than he had already.  Michael didn’t know what he was going to do, not just yet anyway.  He said nothing as he flitted through Dean’s memories to see why a crossroads demon was trapped in here.  Finding that said crossroads demon had become the King of Hell wasn’t what he wanted to hear.  If anyone was to hold that title, it would be Lucifer and Lucifer alone.  Dean’s memories supplied one of the Knights of Hell coming to challenge Crowley, more than likely in Lucifer’s name.  Abbadon, Michael remembered her well, had fled after the confrontation and after promising a regime change.  She would hide and bide her time until she had amassed an army, but clearly wanted Crowley’s head.

“I considered killing you,” Michael said finally, “But I think you would serve a much more useful purpose as bait.”

Crowley managed to suppress a shudder, but his eyes still opened wide in fear.  There it was, the look that should be given in Michael’s presence.  Again, Michael grinned and preened under the expression before straightening up and leaving.  Crowley made no smart remarks or objections to the doors being shut once again.  They could stay closed now and he wouldn’t mind.

Thinking now on luring Abbadon out, Michael also began to think about how to go about holding up his end of the contract.  A good place to start would be to relocate Gadreel; he would lead him to Metatron and from there Michael could find out what exactly the spell had done to shut Heaven down.  As soon as he did know, both traitors would meet the fate he thought they deserved.  Imprisonment had been unjust, they did not deserve the life their father gave them.

But finding them both would not be so easy.  Gadreel, yes.  He could follow the trail of Gadreel’s grace.  But, even if he did find Gadreel, it wouldn’t necessarily mean he’d find Metatron.  After all, he had managed to hide on earth for millennia without raising any suspicion with any angel.  Perhaps after disposing of Gadreel, he’d set out on finding the factions that had risen up.  He had only the name of one leader, Bartholomew, but that was enough to get started.  Michael would get the names of the other two from him, whether or not he cooperated.  Cooperation would, obviously, entail Bartholomew working alongside him to help him with the other factions and using his amassed following to help find Metatron.  If he didn’t cooperate, well, Michael had never liked him very much anyway and he could get the names of faction leaders from a foot solder.  As well as seize Bartholomew’s followers for himself.

Depending on who the other leaders were, he could sway them to his side and have a much larger army at his disposal.  That would be perfect for when Abbadon came out of hiding, lured or not.  Being an archangel, Michael wouldn’t need any kind of special weapon to kill her.  He would end her miserable life while her demons skirmished with his angels. 

For a moment, he contemplated shutting the hell gates _properly_ , but then dismissed the idea.  Demons would provide some entertain, as he wasn’t allowed to restart the apocalypse and monsters would fail to provide much interest.  They couldn’t organize and fight like demons did.  Plus, leaving the hell gates open would not be a violation on his part.  Just because they’d be left open did not mean it was an aid to getting Lucifer out of the cage.  They’d always been open and that hadn’t helped him in the slightest.

Without any further thought, he was similar to Dean in that aspect, and without a word to Sam or Cas, Michael took off.  He’d gone straight to the house they’d found Gadreel in, where his punishment had been suspended because of Sam’s immediate near death.  The trail had already begun to fade, but it was still enough for him to go by.  He followed it to a bar two states back over and found Gadreel, in his previous vessel, tending the bar.  Michael cocked his head in confusion, but made sure to stay out of sight and his grace drawn up into himself completely.  There were too many people in the bar to just go in and brazenly kill someone in a less than normal fashion.

Michael had waited three hours, twenty six minutes and fifteen seconds before the bar finally closed.  Just as Gadreel locked the door and turned to leave, Michael stepped in front of him and stopped him.

“…You’re alive,” Gadreel noted, only partially surprised.

Being mistaken for Dean was going to get under Michael’s skin very quickly.  He didn’t bother correcting him or making any kind of comment.  He would figure it out in about the three seconds it would take for Michael to draw his blade.  Not an angel blade, those were nothing more than a kitchen knife to Michael.  There was a reason Dean had been called the [Michael Sword](http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/31pCQAAd4hL._SL500_AA300_.jpg).  And that’s what Michael had decided, on flight there, to do with Dean’s soul.  He reforged it back into the blade from whence it came.

Before Gadreel could even react, the claymore-like sword was cleaving through his shoulder, slicing easily down to his hip.  But, Michael deciding the host body was innocent of crime (except for the crime of stupidity in accepting Gadreel), the sword did no harm to the host.  It sliced through Gadreel only, painting a line of ethereal light on the body along its carved path and letting grace flood from the fatal slash. 

Broken wings burned their image across the front of the bar as Gadreel, now only whoever this man was, slumped against the wall and slide to the ground.  Michael kneeled down and touched a finger to the man’s forehead, his sword disappearing back to the same plane which kept an angel’s wings hidden.  The man would be alright, he’d wake in just a few hours.

Michael frowned at himself.  He hadn’t even _tried_ to get information on Metatron.  He just went straight to putting an end to Gadreel.  Michael sighed, standing up, and reminded himself he could still find Metatron.  If the traitor didn’t come looking for Gadreel after a few days, he could still use the factions of angels to hunt him down.  He may have successfully hid on earth for millennia, but the entire Heavenly Host had not been on earth during that time.  A faint groan form the man told Michael he was already waking up and that he needed to leave.  He really didn’t want to deal with having to explain what happened.  Why was he on the ground, why were there scorch marks on the bar…

Michael had gone back to the bunker, only to check on Cas and Sam.  He knew they, and previously Dean included, had quite the tendency to get themselves in precarious situations.  What he found was two very somber looking drunk men sitting slumped at the table. 

“Speak of the devil…” Sam muttered.

Michael bristled under the saying, but did nothing more than take the alcohol away from them.  He didn’t store it back in the fridge or anything, as Dean might’ve, he just dumped it all out.  Both Sam and Cas protested loudly.  Michael was not going to have them drinking themselves stupid, getting alcohol poisoning and dying from it.  That was a bit extreme, but he didn’t want to have to suddenly fly back and save their lives just in case he was in the middle of something.  He ignored their continued protests as he left again; this time to start bringing the angels back in order.

 

xXxXx

 

It had taken no convincing to bring Bartholomew to his side.  He hadn’t even objected when Michael seized full control of his following.  The other two faction leaders were Rebecca and Malachi, a former ‘politician’ of Heaven and an anarchist.  Not much of a surprise there.  Rebecca had fallen in line with Michael as well, though preferring her and her faction remain behind the scenes.  As expected, Malachi had not accepted Michael’s offer.  The fight between them was short, Malachi being obviously being outnumbered and outpowered.  The foot soldiers fought it out, until Malachi decided to aid in the fight himself, to show his army support. As soon as he did, Michael was there in a heartbeat; his sword once again cleaving through the host’s body without actually harming the host.  The ethereal light drew a wide glow across Malachi’s neck, signaling decapitation; grace and light cascaded down the body and wings burned into the ground.  After that, it took only a two weeks to round up all Malachi’s followers who had fled and either convince them to join Michael or kill them.

What had sparked the fight, however, had been a spy for Malachi lurking within what was now Michael’s following.  He personally began interrogation of _every single_ angel under him.  He’d found there had been a squad of spies.  On top of that, the lead of the squad had, surprisingly, been Bartholomew.  Michael had thought the two had been at odds with each other; they always had been before.  As it turned out, they had put their differences aside when Michael had come back.  Neither of them found it fair or progressive to either of their causes to have an archangel show up and strong arm them all.  Enemy of my enemy…

Bartholomew had been run through with the Michael Sword, light and grace pouring out of the wound as the blade was withdrawn.  His wings burned onto both the carpet and desk of his office.  Not a single angel even dared to think of overthrowing Michael after that.

He then put the now unified army to work at finding Metatron, something that had been nagging at him since he killed Gadreel.  Michael knew reopening Heaven was part of his contract, he hadn’t forgotten.  Death knew it would take some time and allowed him that, so long as he was truly working on it.  With nearly the entire Heavenly Host, save for a handful of angels wishing to just blend with humanity, now searching for Metatron, he was found.  It had taken two months and six days.  They’d found him hiding out in some back area of London and he had been promptly bound with sigils and actual bindings, then was brought to Michael.

Michael wanted to make things quick, there were clear signs of elevated demonic activity and he wanted his brethren to have a place of respite during the war.  The bunker would not hold them all, obviously, not that he would want it to anyway.  That was his own place, though shared with Sam and Cas.  They had remained with Michael, as Dean wished, to keep themselves safe during Michael’s angel take over and rising demon activity.  They did still venture out to hunt monsters and eight times already Michael had had to abandon what he was doing to save their lives.

He tortured Metatron slowly, using Dean’s knowledge of torture to his advantage.  Michael learned what he needed within just a few days.  After that, the blade had cleaved his body in half; light and grace spewing and pouring all over the ground.  His wings had only managed to burn the chair he was sitting in, Michael hadn’t allowed him near a wall or to collapse for the very reason that he did not want to have to get the scorch marks out of room.  Metatron should have counted himself lucky to even be in the bunker and not some alley way.  Though Michael had spared the host’s body, it still died from great age; evidently Metatron had been wearing it since he fled Heaven.

With the still mounting demonic activity, Michael ordered Sam and Castiel to remain in the bunker.  They objected, of course, but there was no arguing with an archangel.  Michael turned Crowley loose to hopefully bait and distract Abbadon while he gathered up the things necessary to undo Metatron’s spell.

Six days later, he had what he needed but was unable to perform the spell.  Not because he was inept or anything, because Crowley had failed to keep Abbadon distracted long enough.  Crowley was demoted, not even to a crossroads demon now, but just a run of the mill demon no stronger than a new one.  He was kept imprisoned and held on rack to be tortured by demons aspiring to live up to Alistair and Dean’s reputation.  The war soon came to the front door of the bunker, literally in a few instances.  And every one of those instances had nearly cost Michael his life.  Not because demons had gotten the better of him, but because they’d gotten the better of Sam and Cas. 

The war had been evenly matched and dragged on for what felt like forever.  Michael never had a moment’s rest to actually complete the spell to reopen Heaven.  Get thoroughly irritated and angry with the number of near death experiences with Sam and Cas, Michael had retrieved an angel blade from a fallen angel and given it to Cas with instructions.  The next dying angel Cas saw, he was to take the angel’s grace and promote himself back to angel status.  It wouldn’t give him all his former powers, but Michael wouldn’t have to babysit him through the war anymore.  A week after that, Cas took the grace of a dying angel named Theo.

Five more months dredged by before the tides finally began to turn in Michael’s favor.  His army was beginning to overpower Abbadon’s and, having to keep a less watchful eye on his charges, Michael was able to fight with less interruption.  Another two months and Abbadon was completely on the defensive side of things.  A month and half later, Abbadon made a bold move of not retreating from a losing battle.  As a result, Michael caught her on the field.

When Ruby’s knife was used against demons, it caused sparks and flashes within the demon and illuminated the skeleton.  The knife had no effect on the archdemon, as Dean had come to learn at one point.  But Michael wasn’t using Ruby’s knife.  When he struck her with the Michael Sword, the affect was something akin to a reactor blowing.  The release of her power rushing across the battle field, knocking over unexpecting combatants and leveling the nearby trees.  Rather than little flashes of orange, hellish light erupted from her and shot for the sky.  Only two things upstaged the death of Abbadon; Lucifer being freed and Castiel returning Dean from Hell.

A disturbing calm had settled before the demons scrambled in panic to race back to the sanctuary of Hell.  The angels picked them off in their confusion, only one third of the demons topside had made it back. 

After that, there was little demonic activity, to which Michael was honestly a bit disappointed.  But it freed up his time to resume working on opening Heaven.  He spent a few days recollecting the items necessary for the spell, since most had either been destroyed in fights that had come to the bunker or had simply gone bad during the timespan.  Even after completing the spell, it was three days before it showed any sign of effect.  Opening the doors of _Heaven_ took much more effort than closing them and it was taking a toll on Michael, as the spell continuously fed off his grace.  He spent most of his time hunkered down in the bunker.

Since he was spending so much time back there now, he saw more of Cas and Sam than he had during the entire war.  He could see they had not gotten over Dean’s sacrifice, in fact, they seemed more distraught over it now.  They wouldn’t look at him and would try to avoid all forms of contact with him whatsoever whenever possible.  He tried a few times to reach out to them, but he didn’t have the energy to care too much at the moment.

Three weeks had gone by and the pearly gates had only opened enough to allow for the passage of souls, though in slow and low volume.  But it was a start.  Despite the amount of time some souls had spent trapped in the veil, they were surprisingly patient.  The more souls Heaven took in, the faster the doors began to open and the less demanding they were of Michael’s grace.  Another month and the gates were practically wide open, taking all the souls from the veil and beginning to allow angels to come and go once more.  Both Death and Michael had personally escorted Adam back to Heaven.  It was Death’s way of consolation and Michael’s apology.

With Heaven restored, Michael could have stayed and only come down whenever Cas or Sam was in trouble.  But he’d chosen to stay on earth.  When questioned, he replied with things like ‘it’s easier to keep an eye on those death prone hunters’ or ‘it keeps the demons at bay’.  Truth be told, he actually liked staying on earth.  He’d enjoyed it before, even taking Castiel along with him on strolls along newly created beaches.  Perhaps something like that would help lighten Cas’ mood again.  He returned to the bunker only to sense something was off. 

When he found Cas, he knew what it was instantly; Cas had cut out his stolen grace.  Castiel’s own grace had been ruined in the spell used to shut Heaven and nearly destroyed by the spell that reopened it.  It would take a year in Heaven, at least, for it to recuperate enough to be brought back to him.  Michael asked why Cas would do something so ridiculous.

 _“Humanity isn’t all that bad._ ”

Michael scowled at the response, but nonetheless made the offer of taking Cas to once again travel one of their father’s greatest creations.  He declined.  Michael huffed and left him without a word, deciding to sail the skies on his own.  He drifted high above the clouds, basking in the sun and for the first time since taking over Dean’s body, he felt relaxed.  It had been a year of constant fighting and now he could finally enjoy himself. 

Sam had continued hunting, coming to the bunker only once in a while to show he was fine.  He’d gotten in a few tight situations, but nothing he couldn’t handle without Michael; as he made very clear.  Cas only hunted once in a very rare while and only locally, but he stayed in the bunker.  He’d stop coming to Dean’s room for sleep when Michael wasn’t there, as he had done during the war.  Michael had noticed but said nothing on it.  He let Castiel have his space.

Everything after went peacefully, only a few demons had whispered about building themselves back up or trying to free Lucifer but none had acted on such words.  Despite having seen all the world already, Michael never tired of flying through the skies.  Particularly, the skies above the north and south poles; he loved both the Aurora Borealis and Aurora Australis.  It was a year and half since Heaven’s reopening, on a night that Michael was drifting the Australis that he felt something was wrong.  He quickly righted himself, flaring his wings and flew through the skies as fast as he could back to the bunker.  The closer he got, the more unsettled he felt and started to panic.

He raced through the bunker and found Cas in his room, sitting on the bed with his hands folded between his knees.  He was just sitting there, yet Michael could feel panic and fear rising in his throat.  Michael started towards himself slowly, making himself known to avoid startling him.  Cas looked up at him with reddened eyes and dried tears on his face.  He must have been thinking about Dean again, but he did that so often.  There was a look in those blue eyes Michael couldn’t place until Cas raised a hand— a hand holding Dean’s customized pistol.

The expression Castiel wore was hopeless, yes, but there was also a touch of smugness to it.  Michael froze in confusion and flitted his eyes around the room in search of a trap of some sort.  By the time he saw it, an angel banishing sigil painted on the headboard of Dean’s bed, Castiel had the barrel pressed to his temple.  Michael lunged forward to stop him, but was a fraction of a second too slow.  Castiel pulled the trigger, the gun went off with a resonating bang and the bullet tore through his skull. 

Michael could save him, he could revive him— Except that Castiel’s blood splattered on the sigil and ejected Michael to Heaven.  Michael landed outside the pearly gates, dazed only for a second before he ripped through the heavens and skies back to the bunker, going straight back to the room.  The ejection and return had cost him five minutes.  Returning to the room, he saw Death standing beside Castiel’s lifeless body.

“He has already gone,” Death stated.

Michael suddenly felt he couldn’t breathe and swallowed thickly.  Cas had died and he failed to revive him.  He fulfilled all Dean’s other requests, but Cas had died.  That was a violation of their contract.  A violation that meant it was game over.

“He went peacefully, perhaps you passed him on your frantic flight down here,” Death said, “Will you go peacefully as well?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well shit no happy endings for _anyone_ huh?  
>  feel free to speak (or yell) all your thoughts and comments, i will be basking in them as i prepare another fic


	22. Heaven 2.0

Cas was fairly sure of what to expect.  For his rebellion, murders, blasphemy and suicide, not to mention having relations to the Winchester, he expected Hell.  He expected to wake up in the fire and brimstone, sulfur filling the air, demons flocking to truss him up and torture him.  That’s what he expected, but that wasn’t what he got.

Sunlight gently filtered through the windows.  The musty scent of a bunker untouched for decades, until recently, drifted through the air.  There were no screams of pain, just peaceful morning silence.  He blinked his eyes a few times, sitting up and looking around.  He was in Dean’s room, but the room showed no trace of his suicide.  It was perfectly neat and clean, about like when Dean had first claimed the room.  It hadn’t ever been so neat since then. 

Cas moved the edge of the bed and saw Dean’s customized pistol sitting on the nightstand.  He stared at it, wondering if he’d even really gone through with it or if he’d fallen asleep contemplating it and his ‘suicide’ had just been a resulting nightmare.  _No._   Something wasn’t right, he was more than sure he’d gone through with it.  Was this—

“Hey.”

Cas’ head snapped up at the voice and felt the breath knocked out of him.  Dean was standing in the doorway, _Dean_ , not Michael, and was giving him that cocksure, crooked grin.

“Look like you seen a ghost, which really shouldn’t spook ya like that.”

This was.  This was Heaven.  Despite all his sins, Castiel had still made it into Heaven.  Without thinking, he was on his feet and closing the distance between them.  Dean straightened up, keeping that grin on his face, and spread his arms welcomingly.  Cas bit his lip, but fell into them easily.  He wrapped his arms tightly around the hunter, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck as Dean’s arms wrapped around him gently.  Cas was perfectly content to stay there, just like that, forever.  And that was the point.  This was _Heaven_ , it was your best memories, favorite fantasies, sweetest dreams, everything you loved; forever. 

But everyone had their own Heaven.  Short of having some special knowledge or higher power, you were alone in your Heaven.  All the things you saw, the landscape, the creatures, the _people_ …They were just illusions that acted just like, or similarly to, the real thing.  Which meant this wasn’t actually Dean holding him.  It was just a projection. 

Castiel took in a deep breath and willed himself to push away from the illusion.  Even though he was an illusion, the hurt and confused look on Dean’s face felt all too real.

“What’s up?” Dean asked.

Cas opened his mouth to reply, but no words came.  He just turned his gaze to the floor, shaking his head with a sigh.  It took him a long minute to lift his eyes back to the illusion, who was now expressing genuine concern for him.

“This…” Cas mumbled, “This isn’t real.”

“What?  ‘Course it is, why wouldn’t it be?”

Rather than answer the illusion, Cas decided to take some control in his own personal Heaven.  He turned his back on Dean, closing his eyes and willing him away.  He could hear Dean trying to coax him to turn around, to come back to his embrace, but Cas wouldn’t listen; it would only hurt more now.  He kept his eyes firmly shut until he the silence from before returned.  He let out a tentative breath and glanced over his shoulder; Dean was gone.  Cas distantly wondered if this was actually some new, convoluted trick of Hell.  Lucifer had baited Sam with it before. 

Cas moved back to the bed and dropped onto it, covering his face with his hands.  That bullet was supposed to have made things easier and it hadn’t.  He wasn’t feeling any better than before.  He hadn’t accomplished anything.  No, that was a lie.  He had accomplished making things worse _, again._  

“Man, you two dudes are a match made in Heaven.”

Cas made a face of confusion beneath his hands and quickly propped himself up on his elbows.  There was another man, one he didn’t recall meeting.  But from his memories, Cas would say it looked like he had stepped out of the 80s.  Cas glanced around the room for any sign of why this guy had appeared in his Heaven.  He had no part in it; Cas was sure he’d never even met this person.

“Don’t worry, hombre, Doctor Badass is here to help,” the man grinned.

“D-Doctor…Who?”

“Doctor Badass,” the man repeated, “Most people just call me by my name though.  Name’s Ash.”

Cas stared at the man, Ash, and tried to place him.  The name sounded familiar, he’d heard it once or twice before in Heaven, but more so in Dean’s memories when he rebuilt him after Hell.  Ash was a friend of the Winchesters and, from what Dean had told him, was able to go between Heavens and bring people together.  The real people, not the illusions.

“What’re you doing here?” Cas asked.

“Came to see what all the fuss was about,” Ash shrugged, “Angel radio went haywire for a while and then I heard you, uh…y’know, quit.”

Cas stared at him, silently prompting him to continue.

“And I got a S.O.S. from Sam, kinda.  He prayed you made it up here, so I figured I’d check for him.”

“And that was it?” Cas asked.

“Well, I got somethin’ else to tell ya too.  And this is part of it,” Ash spoke up, “After Dean and Michael’s little switch off, Dean got sent up here.  Outside the gates, since Michael hadn’t opened the place back up yet.  But he was up here til Michael decided what to do with his soul.  He did pretty much the same thing you did.  Happy for a minute or two and then just took a nose dive.”

Cas had thought it was a little strange that Dean had been up there by the gates rather than in the veil.  But maybe Michael had kept up him there as a sort of safety measure; the veil hadn’t been the most stable place since Heaven’s closure.

“So, he was actin’ all sad and depressed and basically like himself, I guess.  I was comin’ to talk to him, but right before I got there, Michael pulled him back down.”

“So, he’s not here?” Cas asked, not even hiding the depressive tone.

“Yes and no,” Ash shrugged.

Cas clenched his jaw, tilting his head as Ash took a few steps closer.  He looked like he was trying to decide how to explain something bad to a small child.

“I mean, yeah, he’s here,” Ash said, “But, at the same time, it ain’t really him.”

“That’s not helpful,” Cas stated.

“The Michael Sword,” Ash replied, “Michael used Dean’s soul for the sword.  Well, Dean _is_ the sword, that’s why all you angels up here kept calling him the Michael Sword.  But, you know, it’s not like any angel blade.  Way more powerful.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Cas bit.

Ash held up his hands in defense.

“Well, it, uh, he…?  There were special features involved.  Like, it— he— um, it, can’t be lost like an angel blade.  Y’know, you drop an angel blade and lose it, anyone can take it.  Michael drops his sword and it immediately returns to the Heavenly Weaponry, waiting for him to call it back.”

Ash could see Cas’ eyes begin to light up with hope.  Ash glanced to the side, nervously scratching the back of his head before looking at Cas again.

“So, Michael messed up somehow, I don’t know, and got dragged back to the pit.  But he didn’t have the sword with him, which means it was in the weaponry,” Ash continued, “But, I mean, the _sword_ is in the weaponry.  Not Dean.”

And there it was, that crushed look Ash knew Cas was going to have.  For a moment, he’d been hopeful Ash could walk either him or Dean between Heavens to each other and then they could have a real Heaven.  But now he understood what Ash had meant by Dean being there and also not being there. 

“There could be a way to unforge it,” Ash recovered, “Hell, you guys always found ways to break rules, so maybe…”

“…Can you take me to the weaponry?” Cas asked.

Since he had been human at the time of his death, Cas had no permissions of passing through Heavens without grace or knowledge how to do it as a human like Ash did.  He could’ve gone out and searched for a road, like he’d told Sam and Dean, but it wouldn’t take him where he wanted to go.  He would only end up in another fantasy or memory.

“Sure can, escorting’s easier now that Dean and Michael hit the reset button on the place,” Ash grinned.

Cas knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t helping.  He just fixed Ash with a light glare, wordlessly telling him to just lead the way.  Ash nodded to himself and turned on his heels, walking out with what Cas could only call a sort of swagger; according to its actual definition, not the new, trendy one.  He followed him down the hallway, through the main hall, and down to the garage of the bunker-replica.  The heavy, metal doors of the garage were opened, exposing the tunnel.  But the tunnel didn’t go very far back before it looked like it twisted and turned in on itself; the portal to another Heaven, or another part of Heaven.

Ash took Cas’ hand, to keep him from getting separated in the portal, and led him in.  The feeling of transition hardly felt any different to Cas than when he’d been an angel.  The space around him shifted and bent as the dark colors of the bunker’s tunnels began to blur and lighten until it was unrecognizable.  It became just a spiral of light pastel colors moving past them with a gentle breeze.  Cas could himself being pulled towards another version of his Heaven and he wants to go.  He wants to just be happy, but he knows that whatever other Heaven is calling him won’t make him happy because it won’t be the real Dean there.

Ash tugs his arm, helping to pull him away from the other Heaven and towards a different place.  The pastel colors fade out and stop spiraling, but only a few darker colors come into view.  Even before the shapes of the darker colors come into view, he knows where he is.  This is Heaven _; the_ Heaven.

White marble stones cover the ground, pristine white pillars rise up to support the grand structures, there’s an air of pure bliss and peace; an air that is literally sparkling.  It all feels so familiar to him, yet at the same time, it feels different.  It’s cleaner, fresher, because of its reset.  The only thing different is the new statue standing in the center of Heaven, just in front of the immaculate castle-like mansion that was once God’s.  The statue makes his heart skip a beat because it’s of Dean— _no_ , it’s of Michael.  It’s of Michael standing watch over Heaven with his hands folded over the hilt of his sword, pointing down to the ground.  Castiel makes a sour face at the statue; it should be of _Dean_ , not Michael, because Dean is the reason any of this was saved.

Cas pointedly looked away from the statue, walking ahead of Ash.  He knew how to get to the weaponry from there; no special skills were required to get to it.  He didn’t need Ash’s help at this point, but Ash must’ve wanted to see Dean as well, since he was following him.  He shot one more dirty look at the backside of the statue before it disappeared from sight as he walked through an unlocked door in the side of the castle-mansion.  The door didn’t lead directly to the weaponry, but it was much closer to it than the front door was. 

No longer being an angel, getting down to the weaponry seemed to take an eternity.  The halls and stairwells were large enough for even the largest angels, the archangels, to pass through them in their true forms.  It took Cas and Ash the better part of three hours, including short rests after each flight of stairs, to get to the weaponry. 

“So, how d’ya open it?” Ash asked, breathlessly.

He leaned back against a high-arching pillar, trying to regain his breathing after the last flight of stairs.

“By hoping it will still recognize me,” Cas replied.

Cas didn’t bother with another rest as he walked straight up to the doors that looked more like a portion of wall set further back than the rest.  They had no hinges, no locks; they didn’t even look like they would open.  They were just perfectly flat, surrounded by decorated arches.  Cas stopped only a few inches from the door and raised his hand, hesitating before pressing it against the cool marble.  For a moment, nothing happened and Cas felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.  Until a light ringing sound drifted through the air and a line of light split the doors.

“Some Star Trek stuff goin’ on here,” Ash laughed, “Dean would love that.”

The light faded as the doors slowly swung apart, not making a single sound as the stone glided over the floor.  Inside, weapons of all kinds and massive size lined the walls; weapons large enough for an angel’s true form.  Rows of racks ran down the length of the armory, bearing smaller weapons.  The weapons got smaller as they came closer to the center of the armory.  The weapons were well lit by dimmed lights, enough to give them a dangerous reflection.  But the brightest light shown down from directly above the center of the armory, where the most prized weapon rested.

Presently the size of a claymore, the Michael Sword rested blade pointed up in its own ornate rack.  Castiel knew, from millennia past, the sword could adjust its size based on whether or not Michael was using a vessel.  He was glad it was sized for a human at the moment, but it was no less unsettling.  The dangerous shine the other weapons gave off had nothing on the blade’s reflection.  It looked capable of slicing the air around it with the slightest movement. 

Cas had to remind himself to breathe before he started walking towards the Michael Sword— towards Dean.  He could vaguely hear Ash coming in behind him, whistling and admiring at the other weapons.  Coming closer, Cas could feel the power rolling off the blade.  He’d felt similar energy when he’d rescued Dean from Hell, but it wasn’t like this.  It wasn’t pure or focused to a single purpose.  Once he stepped into the circle of light illuminating it, he could _feel_ the air begin to thrum with energy.  Like the blade was alert to his presence.  Cas tentatively reached out with his hand, pausing with his fingers hovering around the handle.  This was Michael’s sword, in Heaven’s weaponry.  It couldn’t be that easy to just _take_.  Even if it was, what was he going to do?

Cas pulled his hand away, reluctantly dropping it by his side.

“What’s the problem?” Ash asked.

“I can’t just…take it— him,” Cas sighed.

The pronoun thing was already a nuisance because, on one hand, it was just a sword.  But, on the other, it was _Dean_.

“Why not?”

Cas stared at Ash.  For all his intelligence and cleverness, he was an idiot for not seeing the flaw in just taking a weapon.

“I know what you’re thinkin’, man,” Ash held his hands up in defense, “But, we got here with no problems.  No one did anything about us walkin’ in the palace.  The doors opened up for you.  Why not give it a shot?”

Cas glanced back at the blade; Ash had a point.  But still, he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe this was some sort of trap.  Nothing in his life, especially anything involving Winchesters, was ever as simple as that.

“Well, you need proof, then here.”

He looked over his should at Ash, seeing him reach for a weapon on another rack.  He snatched the small battle axe up off the rack and gave it a few swings, then gave Cas a smirk.

“Try to leave the weaponry with it,” Cas challenged.

Ash nodded, hefting the axe over his shoulder and striding back towards the doors.  Cas watched him intently, praying that Ash would be able to walk out.  He held his breath as Ash came to the threshold—

And the axe clattered to the ground.  Cas had known better, but he’d still gotten his hopes up.  If a small battle axe of no significance wasn’t allowed to pass, then why would the Michael Sword be allowed?

“I’m just messin’ with ya,” Ash grinned.

“….Are you joking?” Cas bit.

“Relax,” Ash sighed.

He leaned down and picked the axe up again and proceeded to walk through the doors without issue.

“See?”

Cas snapped his head back to the sword, nervously licking his lips before reaching for it again.  Energy buzzed around the handle, nearly shocking Cas as his fingers wrapped around the smooth leather of the handle.  When he pulled, the sword didn’t budge.  Using his other hand as well, he pulled harder.  The hilt gave a loud, sharp groan as it ground against the rack holding it; it only moved half of an inch.

“Ash,” Cas called, “I think I may need some help.”

Ash jogged back to the center of the weaponry, standing beside Cas and taking hold of the blade as well.  Both of them pulled together as hard as they could; shrill grinding was their reward as the hilt moved against the small arches of metal holding the blade upright.  The more it moved, the more the energy increased to a higher powered shock.  The electricity was ripping through their hands, frying their nerves and muscles, by the time the hilt slide over the arches.  They both immediately let go of it, letting in fall to the floor with a thunderous rumble and cracking the ground.

“We ain’t gonna be able to get that outta here,” Ash noted between gasps.

He gingerly rubbed his shaking hands together, holding them close to his chest to ease the pain.  Cas looked down at his own trembling hands, palms reddened and almost bleeding.  He clenched his hands, whimpering audibly as he did, and stalked over to another weapon rack.  He wasn’t giving up that easily now, not since he now knew it could be moved.  He walked up and down a few racks, the ones bearing smaller weapons for vessels, until he found what he was looking for.  Two bladed chain whips hung down in loops from their pegs.  He took both whips and came back, holding one out to Ash.

“You do know these are metal, right?” Ash asked, “So, we’ll still get shocked.”

“I was thinking more on moving it,” Cas answered, “It would be slightly less effort to drag than to carry.”

“Okay, but we’re still gonna get shocked, dude.”

Cas’ determined expression didn’t change.  Ash sighed, shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it around his hands.  He kneeled down, with a deep breath, and lifted the handle up.  Cas quickly set down one whip and wrapped the other around, using its blade to hold it.  Ash dropped the sword for a moment, catching his breath and shaking the pain from his arms before lifting it again.  Cas did the same with the second whip.  Ash jumped a step back this time, gritting his teeth and clenching the cloth of his jacket tighter.

Cas pulled off his trench coat and wrapped it around his hands as well, taking up the handle of one of the whips.  He looked expectantly at Ash until he did the same.  Just as before, they both knew when to pull.  The sound from before was nothing compared to the sheer _wailing_ of the blade’s full length crushing and scratching into the marble floor.  The electricity shot up their arms, this time reaching their chests and striking deep; they made it only three feet before they dropped the chain whips.

“We really need a better way to move this,” Ash gasped, “Why don’t you ask one of your feathered brothers to come help?”

“Help what?  Help steal Heaven’s strongest weapon from the weaponry?” Cas snapped.

“Dude, like I said before, no one’s stopped us yet.  Pretty sure if they cared, we wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

Cas pursed his lips.  That was another valid point.

“Yeah, Cassie.  Not many of us care you’re trying to steal your boyfriend back.”

Both Ash and Cas snapped their heads up.  Someone was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doors nonchalantly.  Cas squinted his eyes to get a better view, since the light coming from behind the person silhouetted them.  They straightened up and started walking closer, the light catching on something behind them.  A few somethings, actually.  Six wings…

“Gabriel….?” Cas breathed.

“The one and only,” Gabriel grinned.

“But how?  Lucifer—“

“Hey, I didn’t get to be Loki the Trickster for nothin’,” Gabriel smirked, “He may have taught me most of my tricks, but he didn’t teach ‘em all.”

Gabriel stopped in front of them, leaning to one side to get a better view of the sword on the ground and the limp chains in their hands.

“Not a bad try for a couple humans,” Gabriel hummed, “But ya really should’ve just asked big brother for help, Cassie.”

“Please do not call me that,” Cas huffed, “And in my defense, I believed you to be dead.”

“I know, I did a good job, huh?  Now, step aside and let a pro show you how it’s done.”

Cas glanced down at the whip’s handle before offering it to Gabriel.  The archangel gave him a playful scowl, waving it away.  Cas sighed and dropped it, stepping back as Ash did the same.  Gabriel knelt down, lifting the sword and removing the chains from it, then retracting his hand quickly and shaking the shocks off.

“Jeez, Dean-o, still holdin’ a grudge?” Gabriel teased.

Cas eyes flicked back and forth between Gabriel and the blade, he was fairly certain it wasn’t Dean doing that so much as safety measure against anyone who wasn’t Michael.

“Alright, here we go.”

Gabriel shook his arms out, cricking his neck like he was preparing to dead-lift a heavy weight, which he was in reality.  He grabbed the handle with both hands, wiggling his hips and winking at Cas before making an actual attempt.  Even being an archangel, Cas could see the beginnings of strain as he slowly lifted the Michael Sword.  Light caught and flickered around him, showing faint outlines of his true form.  Massive wings flaring out, lean muscles rippling, tossing his neck side to side, whipping his mane—  Cas soon identified it as what early anglo-saxons called a ‘glashtin’, a mighty shapeshifting water horse with a love for tricks and pranks.

The horse stamped its hooves, its hind legs prancing back and forth as he beat his wings with another surge of power.  The blade whined and screech as it slid up off the floor, but not by much.  It took Gabriel a visible amount of great effort to hold it a foot off the ground and tolerate the energy attempting to electrocute him.

“Now…Let’s get goin’ before the joy-buzzer here goes into overdrive,” Gabriel panted.

Gabriel took a deep breath, attempting to heave the sword higher as he led the way back out of the weaponry.  There was no invisible force to stop them, as Ash had pretended, but there was the massive halls and staircases.  With Gabriel focusing on not dropping the blade and destroying the ground, he couldn’t do much to help speed up the process.  It once again took them nearly three hours to make it back outside the palace.

“Where do we go?” Cas asked, “Can you…unforge his soul?”

“One question at time,” Gabriel managed, “Just lead the way to a Heaven.”

“Right this way,” Ash said.

Rather than going back to the square in the center of Heaven, he led them the opposite direction and down a smooth, narrow path.  It was close enough to a road and, after a few minutes of walking, a portal way flickered into existence.  It felt the same as before, but this time without the pull towards any one Heaven.  Cas was completely focused on the Michael Sword.  When the lights faded away, he found them walking through the doors of a dingy bar; the Roadhouse.  Gabriel hurried past them, becoming quickly exhausted from the weight, towards the nearest pool table.  As soon as he hefted the blade up, Ash ran to his side.

“Not the bed, man, c’mon,” Ash pleaded.

If the blade had crushed marble, it was going to destroy the feeble pool table.  Gabriel just stared back at him before the sassiest look crossed his face.

“I’ll make ya a new one,” Gabriel sneered, “With a mattress and everything.”

Before Ash could object further, he dropped the blade onto the green felt.  As expected, the pool table buckled.  The table top snapped in half, shards prevented from flying thanks to the felt.  But the same couldn’t be said about the legs, which snapped out and sent large splinters flying as the whole table dropped and crushed into the floor.  Boards of the flooring snapped and flung straight up around the table, sending more pieces of wood and dust flying.

All three of them were left with light coughs, waving the dust from their faces and flicking wood splinters off themselves. 

“I think he needs to lose a little weight,” Gabriel commented.

Ash glanced down sadly at the pool table as Gabriel clapped his hands together.

“Right, so you guys watch him for a second.  I gotta go get a few things.”

“So, you _can_ unforge him?” Cas asked.

“I can sure try,” Gabriel shrugged.

Before Castiel could say anything more, Gabriel disappeared in a single beat of his wings.  Two heart beats later, Gabriel was back with an armful of objects he was laying out on the bar counter.  Out of curiosity, Cas walked up next to him to see what all they were.  Three large jars of holy oil, a lighter, a phial of blood, a phial an ashy white powder…

“What is it you plan to do, Gabriel?” Cas asked.

“Burn the blade,” Gabriel shrugged.

“Burn the— _How_ is that supposed to work?” Cas snapped, “His soul _is_ the blade!”

“Just trust me, will ya?”

Gabriel turned away from Cas, moving behind the bar and searching for a few bowls.

“Trust you?” Cas repeated, “Any time you have said that, things have gone wrong.”

Gabriel ignored him, finding two bowls and setting them on the counter.  He uncapped the phial and of and powder, dumping their contents in one bowl.  Another quick search and he found a spoon to stir them together.

“What’s the powder?” Ash asked.

“Bone dust,” Gabriel answered.

“From what?”

Gabriel paused in his stirring, debating whether or not to answer. He decided on the latter, earning a glare from Cas.

“From what?” Cas echoed.

Gabriel mumbled a reply.

“Gabriel.”

“From…Dean, okay?”

“ _What_?!”

“Hey, you iced yourself and Michael got pulled back down and Dean’s soul was up here, so it was just a body layin’ in the bunker!  He was already…gettin’ a little nasty by the time I got down there since all the decay started right back up.”

“ _Gabriel_!”

“For the love of Dad, Castiel, don’t tell me you thought this would get ya a happy life on earth!” Gabriel snapped.

Cas bristled under Gabriel’s tone, gritting his teeth and preparing to argue further.  That was exactly what he’d been hoping for.  He knew bodies could be repaired, no matter the extent of damage.  Healing his own would be easy, so would healing Dean’s.

“…Is that his blood too?” Cas seethed.

“…What do you think?”

Cas clenched his jaw.

“It was already coagulated and separated.  Count it lucky if this still works.”

Cas huffed and stalked away a few steps.  He heard Gabriel murmur a few incantations over the mix before the sound of a stone jar being moved, one of the ones containing holy oil.  He continued his incantations as he poured some of it in another bowl, then added the blood and bone mix.  Cas glanced over his shoulder as Gabriel took the bowl, still muttering latin words, and walked over to the destroyed pool table.  He clambered over the chunks sticking up, and settled straddling the blade.  He carefully poured the small amount of thick, oily mix over the blade, doing his best to try and keep it in the blade’s contours to prevent it from spilling off the metal.

Moving faster now, Gabriel tossed the empty bowl and hopped back over the ends of wood and ran over to the counter.  He retrieved the jars of holy oil and the lighter, and then climbed back over to stand above the blade again.  He dumped a jar and a half’s worth over the sword, then kneeled to lift it slightly, just enough for the oil to better pool beneath it.  Then he dumped the remaining amount and quickly spouted off another incantation as he maneuvered away from the oil.  He ignited the lighter and tossed it onto the oil soaked weapon. 

The blaze that erupted was brighter than sun, flames as hot as hell roared up and crashed against the ceiling.  In only a second, there was a deafening, raging bonfire that was greedily advancing over the wooden floors and ceiling.

“Gabriel, what the _fuck_!” Cas yelled, shielding his face and scrambling away.

“Are you crazy?!” Ash shouted, making a run for the fire extinguisher.

Gabriel frowned and intercepted him, taking the extinguisher and tossing it to the otherside of the bar.

“Are you tryin’ to burn down my Heaven?!” Ash barked.

He gave a panicked yelp as a tongue of fire licked at his boot.  The fire was swallowing the bar and crawling closer to them.

“Isn’t it just supposed to stay on the oil?” Cas panicked.

“Hell if I know!” Gabriel defended, “I never had anything to with making or unmaking weapons!”

The fire roared louder, the heat giving another surge, but it advanced no farther.  In fact, it seemed like they were being drawn back in.  The flames leaned back, drawn by a source of rushing air.  A howl of protest and the fire was quickly receding, but not losing intensity.  The flames were drawn back and concentrated on the immediate area of the blade until a blinding flash erupted from the center; then they were gone.

The air was disturbingly quiet and still.  Both Ash and Cas turned to Gabriel; Ash with fear and curiosity, Cas with anger and indignity.

“You just decided to try something you’ve never done before?” Cas seethed.

“Yeah.”

“Without knowing if it was going to work?”

“Yeah.”

“You may have just _killed_ a soul!” Cas shouted.

Gabriel skipped away from Cas as he surged to his feet, continuing on to hurried walk over to the thoroughly blackened pit that had been where the pool table was.  He brushed the ash aside with his foot and frowned to himself.  Castiel was beside him in a heartbeat, looking over his shoulder.  Beneath the black ash and charred wood, the silver of a damaged blade gleamed.  The light reflected in a mangled manner, making the blade look like it put through an acid bath.  Eaten pits of metal, frayed leather, fractured blade face, shattered hilt…

“You _did_!” Cas roared, “You fucking _killed_ a _soul_!”

Castiel drew back, fully intent on breaking Gabriel’s jaw.  Gabriel ducked as soon as Cas swung, catching his arm, and the other when he moved that one. 

“Now, hang one just a sec—“

“ _No!_ ”

Gabriel arched back awkwardly to avoid being head-butted, then arched forward to avoiding being kneed.

“He’s not—!  Hey, listen!” Gabriel shouted, “He’s not dead!”

“How is he not?!  Did you not see the sword?!”

“Did _you_ not see it?!”

Cas paused, breathless and eyeing Gabriel with suspicion and doubt.

“Look again,” Gabriel offered.

Gabriel let go of Cas, giving him a gentle push back towards the sword.  Cas’ eyes raked over its remains, but he failed to see anything different.  He wheeled on Gabriel again, ready to tear him apart.

“It’s gone!” Gabriel blurted quickly.

“ _I know_ ,” Cas seethed.

“No, no!  In a good way!”

“What?”

“If his soul died,” Gabriel started, “The gems would still be there.”

Cas narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, turning back to the blade.  The emeralds in the hilt were gone.  All the metal, that hadn’t been eaten by the mix, and the leather had made it through the fire, but the emeralds were nowhere to be seen.

“The essence of his soul was in those gems,” Gabriel explained, “The blade couldn’t function without them.  His soul’s gone from the blade, not from existence.”

“So…so where is he?” Cas breathed.

“Probably his own Heaven, like he should be,” Gabriel replied, “Have sneaky smarty-pants lead the way.”

Gabriel nodded to Ash, still hunkered in the far corner of the bar that had been untouched by the fire.  Ash looked up fearfully, attempting to regain composure as he shakily got to his feet.

“W-Why don’t you take him?” Ash offered.

“Oh, c’mon, Doctor Badass,” Gabriel drawled, “Don’t you wanna see the touching reunion between a hunter and his angel?”

“I’m good, man.  Y’can tell me all about it later,” Ash waved.

Gabriel rolled his eyes dramatically, groaning and spinning on his heels as he started for the door.  Cas took a few steps, casting a glance down at the ruined sword and at Ash, before following Gabriel through the door. 

This time the portal gave an obscenely strong pull in one direction.  He wanted to resist, but when he saw Gabriel was moving easily in the direction of the pull, he relaxed and went along with it.  The light faded away, darkening to a night lit only by a few street lights.  The salty smell of a bay right close by hung in the air.  Cas glanced around, finding himself standing in an abandoned, covered dock.  To his right, some forgotten boat.  To the left, under the cover of the run down dock, was a tarp covered vehicle.  _The Impala_ , his mind supplied.  He knew what memory this was.

“Yeah, well, y’know what?”

Cas nearly snapped his neck looking to the source of the voice.

“Bottom of the ninth and you’re the only guy left on the bench?”

Dean, the _real_ Dean, was standing across from him, just going through the memory like any other person would do.

“Sorry, but I’d rather have you.  Cursed or not,” Dean stated, “And anyway, nut up.  We’re all cursed.  I seem like good luck to you?”

Cas stared at Dean.  Gabriel’s daring move had worked, Dean’s soul was perfectly intact.  He was in his own Heaven now.  One of a memory that Cas also happened to very fond of.

“What?” Dean snipped.

Cas gave a small, content smile.

“I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” Cas started, “But I detect a note of…”

He knew he’s supposed to say ‘forgiveness’ because that’s how the memory goes.  And as much as he liked it, he wanted to change it.  To make this go from a memory-based Heaven to a fantasy-based one.  One they could do as they pleased and not have to replay the same script over and over.

“Affection,” Cas finished.

“Yeah, well, probably gonna die tomorrow, so…Wait, what?”

That had snapped Dean out of the memory.

“Affection,” Cas repeated.

Dean gaped a few times, looking around in confusion.  His eyes soon settled on Cas, still searching for an explanation.  He took a few steps closer, holding his hands up.

“…What the hell’s goin’ on?” Dean asked quietly.

“You want the long version or the short one?” Gabriel quipped.

“Why the hell are you here?” Dean snapped, then turned to Cas, “Why is he here?”

“For once, Gabriel is responsible for saving you.  Rather than killing you in some comical fashion,” Cas replied.

Dean scowled at him; there was nothing comical about the way Gabriel had killed him.  At least, he didn’t think so.

“Okay, really, what the hell is going on?  Where am I?” Dean barked.

“You died, Michael died, Cas died, Cas went and got your sword-you, I helped,” Gabriel grinned proudly, “I saved you and now we’re here in your Heaven.”

Dean stared at Gabriel, eyes scanning over him for some sign of a joke.  When he saw none, anger and worry quickly overtook Dean’s face as he turned on Cas.

“You _died_?!  How?” Dean demanded.

“It’s…it’s not of import,” Cas answered.

“Cas.”

“Dean, I—“

“Bullet to the brain,” Gabriel quipped.

Gabriel made a gun with his hand and put it to the side of his head, then mimed it going off.  Both the hunter and former angel glared at him.

“What?  This was gonna go in circles,” Gabriel shrugged, “I’ll leave you two love birds to duke it out.”

Gabriel gave them a wave and a wink before he was gone from sight, leaving the two of them just as alone as they had been when the memory was created.  Cas dared to look up at Dean and saw him glaring back, visibly choosing his words before he spoke.  Cas sighed and slumped his shoulders, he had wanted the real Dean and the real Dean is what he got. 

“Dean—“

“You _stupid_ son of a bitch!” Dean snapped, “What the fuck?”

“I can explain…”

“Yeah?  ‘Cause I’d love to hear it, man.”

Cas opened his mouth to give his defense, but no words came.  He hadn’t counted on having to explain it to anyone, let alone Dean.  Even if he had time, he didn’t think he’d be able to explain the grief and depression that had just piled and piled on him after Dean’s death.  Dean’s short lived revival had actually made things worse because of second cause of death.  Thinking on that, Cas squinted at the ground before him.  Dean had essentially committed suicide as well.

“I would like to hear your reasoning as well, Dean,” Cas said.

“What?”

“What you did…it’s almost worse.”

“What the f— No, it isn’t.  I did it to keep you and Sam and everyone else safe!” Dean snapped, “You were just being selfish!”

“Selfish?” Cas repeated incredulously, “It wasn’t selfish of you to not consider our feelings?  For you to just…hand yourself over to Michael?  You didn’t think about how we’d feel at all!  How we’d feel seeing him wearing _you_!”

“W-well, no, but look at the bigger picture here, Cas!”

“And what’s that, Dean?”

“I fixed it,” Dean shot, “I fixed _everything_.  That’s what my death did, what did yours do?”

“It saved you,” Cas snapped, “I saved you _again_.”

Dean took a half step back, straightening up with an expression somewhere between anger, confusion and grief.  Unfortunately, he once again settled on anger.

“I never asked you to save me,” Dean cut, “I died so you wouldn’t!  You fucked it up!  Now there world’s free to drive over the cliff again!”

“Wha— How could possibly think it’s my fault?”

“Because Michael’s gone.  He’s gone because you went and offed yourself in some way he couldn’t save you!  I mean, what the hell did you even do?”

“What does my death have anything to do with Michael’s absence?”

“Because that was one of my terms, you ass,” Dean growled, “He had to keep you and Sam alive or he goes back to Hell.”

“Dean…”

“I didn’t want to think about how you guys felt, I knew you’d be pissed.  Same reason I didn’t tell you when I came back,” Dean spoke, “I just… wanted you guys safe.”

Dean turned away from him, tilting his head back in that way Cas knows he does when he’s reached his breaking point.  After all the time they’d spent together, it still tore Cas up to see the hunter at this point and he was still unsure of how to react.  Cas clenched his jaw, thinking of what to do now.

“I…painted a banishing sigil,” Cas started.

Dean glanced over his shoulder, emotions barely contained.

“Where I knew the blood would…would splatter,” Cas admitted, “So that Death could take me before Michael did anything.”

Dean gave a choked laugh, dipping his head and facing Cas again.  Cas allowed himself a half smile at having successfully brought Dean back from the edge.  Dean ran a hand down his face with a sigh before he started walking towards Cas.  He smiled fully when Dean clapped a hand to his shoulder.

“Guess y’learned something from us after all, huh?” Dean smirked, though there was still a twinge of grief in his eyes.

“I learn only from the best.”

“Don’t ever change.”

“I don’t intend to,” Cas replied, “But perhaps…”

Dean cocked his head.

“Perhaps this Heaven could change?  I’m sure there is another place you would rather spend eternity.”

Dean let out a breath with a half-smile, dropping his hand down to Cas’ and twining his fingers through.  Instinctively, Cas stepped closer; into Dean’s ‘personal space’ that he so cherished.  Dean shook his head slightly, rolling his eyes and dropping his head forward to rest his forehead against Cas’.  Cas could feel Dean’s breath quivering, sending a pinpricks down his spine and threatening to punch out his own breath.  Dean took in a steadying breath, closing his eyes and pressing a quick, chaste kiss to Cas’ lips.

“Where to?” Dean murmured.

“Any place you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa what? another chapter _after_ an epilogue? and it has a good ending???


End file.
